Charming Pawse BkIII ChpXIV The Push Travel Plans
by wanderingchat
Summary: The men of SAMCRO work to find a way across the ocean to rescue Abel while the spectre of the bond revocation dangles over them.  Explanations seem to be in order as the plans come together.  Tig makes some discoveries about Cat's past.


consolidate carts for one bill. Pete wheeled his shopping cart to the front of the counter, to assist with bagging and the order.

They returned to the

The characters and events involving the Sons of Anarchy are the creation of Kurt Sutter.

No copyright infringement is intended.

Any use of lyrics and the mention of songs and performers in this text is also not intended to infringe upon any copyrights held by any of the artists.

All original characters that are not part of the SOA universe are products of my own imagination. Any similarities to real persons are pure coincidence.

Love and thanks go to the DH, who is very much alive and well; along with my best friend and my 'unofficial' god – daughter for being part of my family. Also, much thanks to the members of , , the Indy Tarts and Tartans Gerard Butler fan group, SOA Forums, Watchers of Anarchy, Kim Sisk (author of Sapphires and Whiskey), and my Facebook and Twitter friends for their support. A big thank you for those readers who have written reviews and listed me as a favorite author here at FanFiction. Net.

**Finally, much thanks to Mr. Kurt Sutter for creating the SOA universe in the first place, and to Mr. Kim Coates for his excellent portrayal of Alex 'Tig' Trager.**

**Charming Pawse **

**Book III**

**Chapter XIV**

**The Push**

**Travel Plans**

Clay stared at the aftermath of the brief battle between Tig and Kozik. No furniture or bottles had been broken, but enough blood had been shed in the clubhouse for one day. He turned his steely gaze on Sebastian, one of the new prospects, pointed at the chunk of flesh Tig had spat on the floor, and barked, "You! Clean that up!"

Sebastian looked from Clay to his fellow prospects, then at the chunk of torn, bloody meat on the floor. "M - me?" he squeaked.

"Dude, he was lookin' at you when he gave the order," Filthy Phil murmured, backing away from Sebastian.

Miles also put some distance between himself and Sebastian, lest Clay or one of the other patched members made _him _clean up the mess.

Sebastian's face turned pale. "How?"

"There's rubber gloves in the kitchen. I'd start with that, and ya better hurry before Clay or someone gets pissed that it's not cleaned up!" Miles suggested.

Sebastian crept reluctantly to the kitchen to find the rubber gloves, and a long handled spatula or other implement to handle the mess. He stomach rolled at the idea of having to clean it up. 'I didn't think prospecting the club would be this nasty!'

The fully patched members ignored Sebastian's discomfort. Filthy Phil and Miles were ordered to put the furniture back in place. Most of the members meandered out to the garage to kill time before they were to leave for the hijacking.

Happy spread his cut on a table, smoothing the leather with a reverent hand. He slid his knife through the 'Nomads' patch, severing the threads that had bonded it to the material. The new patches lay on the table next to a needle and fine fishing wire, waiting for him to sew them on.

He settled into a chair, skillfully threading the needle. Then he poked the needle through the leather and the patch, feeling a sense of satisfaction from the 'plonk' sound that came from the first stitch. He pulled it tight, locking the stitch in place. He bent over his work, making small, tight stitches to secure his new patches.

Filthy Phil glanced at Miles as they set things to rights in the main area of the clubhouse. They had spent a lot of time together, hanging around the clubhouse. They'd never expected to be asked to patch in, until Opie had come to them shortly after Half - Sack's funeral to ask if they were interested in joining.

"It's not easy to prospect. You get the dirty work. All of it. You're still on the outside looking in. As we learn more about you, you'll learn more about us. Trust is a too way street with us. The more you earn, the more you get," he 'd informed them. They both readily agreed. They were also surprised when Sebastian, signed on as well.

"Dude, do you think Sebastian will make the cut?" Filthy Phil softly inquired so Happy wouldn't hear them.

"Dunno. He talks a lot, which isn't good," Miles replied. "Look at how he's cleanin' up that piece of skin, for cryin' out loud!" He gestured over his shoulder at the other prospect.

Filthy Phil followed his gaze, watching the prospect's almost comical attempt to clean the floor. Not only was Sebastian wearing the rubber gloves from the kitchen, he was holding a set of long - handled tongs in both hands. They were shaking so much that the offending item kept falling out of the tongs. Sebastian's face was turning a peculiar shade of green.

"If he's not careful, he'll wind up having to clean up more of the floor than he intended!" Phil observed with a slight grin.

Sebastian eventually managed to keep his hands from shaking enough that the skin stayed clamped in the tongs. He scurried into the kitchen to toss it in the garbage.

While the prospects were on clean up detail, Chibs decided to get Kozik's face cleaned up. He motioned for the Tacoma SAA to follow him. "C'mon, bhoyo. Let's see ifn Ah can fix tha' face o' yers!"

He led the Tacoma SAA to the main apartment in the clubhouse. Unlike the room over the garage he had once occupied, which was mostly a sleeper with a half bath, the apartment was set up like a small studio, with a full bath but no kitchen facilities.

Kozik sat on a chair next to the desk while Chibs rummaged in the bathroom for some supplies. "Wha' possessed ye ta tayke Tig on in tha furst place, lad?" he inquired, setting out the first aid supplies on the desk and turning the lamp to better illuminate Koz's injuries.

"Does it matter?"

Chibs shook his head while he dabbed antiseptic cleaner on the side of Kozik's face. "Not really, boot Ah doubt t'was jest aboot tha' vote."

"You got that right," Kozik mumbled.

"Whut Ah dinna git is why ye wanna coom back 'ere. Seems thair's too much bad blud atween ye two."

"This is home. I'm tired of stayin' away."

"Ye ain't lukin' ta mayke muir trouble fer Tig, aire ye? We dinna need tha'!"

Kozik winced from both the sting from the antiseptic and Chibs' admonition. "No, no no! No more trouble. I've missed havin' him for a friend."

Chibs raised an inquiring eyebrow at that comment. "Culda fooled me, bhoyo! Dinnae kin tha' attackin' a mon frum behind wuz a way ta bond!"

"That wasn't intentional, Chibs. I was mad. Tried to convince him I could be a help here. He didn't give it any thought!" Kozik sighed. "It's been eight years, man! I miss her, too, but I got over it!"

Chibs toss the soiled wipe in the trash and leaned against the chair back. "Sum people don't evah 'git ova' thins, lad. Tig walks ta a diff'rent drummer. 'E myght not evah 'git ovah' it."

"No shit," Kozik grumbled. "Don't forget this," he added, holding out his arm where Tig had bitten him for Chibs' inspection.

Chibs winced at the wound. A half - dollar sized hole had been torn from Kozik's flesh. "Tha's gonna need muir than a wipe!"

"Think I need to get tested for rabies?" Kozik joked.

"Distemper, mebbe, boot na' raybees," Chibs replied, soaking a gauze pad in hydrogen peroxide. "Ah shuld use straight rubbin' alcohol on it, boot tha' wuld huirt lyke a sun o' a beyotch!"

"Gee, thanks!"

Chibs scowled at the other rider. "Lissen oop, lad. Ifn' ye pull enny moir site lyke ye did today, Ah'll do worse'n pour rubbin' alcohol in yer wounds! It wun't mayke ye enny friens'"

Kozik's face blanched at the implications behind the other man's comment. "How'd ya know I stopped at the coffeehouse this mornin'?"

Chibs grinned. "Ah dinnae. Explains why Tig doesnae trust ye. Ah suspected ye myght do sumthin' daft lyke tha'."

"Ya played me!"

Chibs shrugged unrepentantly and resumed cleaning the bite wound. "Cat is lyke a sistah ta me, lad. Ifn ye huirt 'er, ye huirt me, noot jest Tig. Ye myght think aboot tha' in tha' footure."

"I didn't go there to cause trouble!" Kozik protested.

Chibs gazed at him in disbelief. "Then why did ye go see 'er, knowin' Tig wuld find oot an' git pissed?"

Kozik let out a frustrated sigh. "I wanted to clear the air with her. Thought if she found out I'm a decent guy after all, she'd change her attitude about me. Then Tig might be more willin' to give me another chance."

"Ah'm surprised she didnae tayke tha' baseball bat ta ye!" Chibs grinned.

"She was prolly tempted. But no. Not this time. She agreed to hear me out."

Chibs shook his head in disbelief. "Ah dinnae see hoo ye managed tha'!" He placed a clean pad over the wound and taped it down.

"I kinda forced her to agree. Told her she owed me for savin' her from a bullet at the drive - by."

Chibs winced. "Tha' wuz unnerhanded. Boot Cat's a wohman o' 'er wurd. Ifn she said she'll lissen ta ye, she'll do it."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I sensed that about her."

Chibs raised a warning finger at the other rider. "Ah'll tell ye this, ye'll git a lot further wi' us ifn yer oop front wi' us. No muir playin' games."

Kozik nodded. "I know, I know. I get it. Team player, that's me!"

"Weel, ye isnae gonna win enny booty contests, boot ye face wunt scare nobody now!"

"No bandages?"

Chibs shook his head. "Nah. No need. They aren't tha' bad, Tig went easy on ye!"

Kozik snorted as Chibs took the supplies back to the bathroom. 'If that was easy, I'd hate to see him _really _pissed.'

Agent Tyler stared at the US Attorney in shock. She couldn't believe Gemma had just identified her as the person responsible for killing Edmond Hayes!

'I was nowhere near the house when the shooting went down! My report supports that, so did the reports from the rest of the team!' Tyler tried to reassure herself. Something in Gemma's steady gaze that continued to alarm her.

Beside her, Stahl had that wide - eyed, fanatical look on her face that made Tyler's blood freeze in her veins. She couldn't tell what her lover was thinking, but hoped she was just as upset over Gemma's claim.

Ally Lowen was considering the feasibility of getting her own hearing checked. She'd spent hours overnight getting the US Attorney to agree to remove the death penalty in exchange for Gemma's admission to killing both Edmond Hayes and Polly Zobelle.

'If this is some of Clay's manipulations, he's just signed his wife's death warrant! That guy might be inscrutable, but I know pissed when I see it and this US Attorney is pissed to the max!'

Gemma continued to stare intently at Tyler, ignoring the looks from Lowen and Stahl. 'That's what you get for laying down with a dog, kid,' Gemma thought uncharitably.

The US Attorney quickly overcame his displeasure at the unexpected twist to Gemma's testimony. He cleared his throat before urging Gemma to continue.

"Tyler had her gun pointed on me, made me toss mine on the floor. She kicked it across the room, never lowering her gun from my face. She picked up my gun and sat down across from me. Then we talked."

"What about?" The US Attorney inquired.

"It wasn't about the weather!" Gemma snapped.

"Gem," Lowen whispered warningly.

"Sorry. She said she was going to give me a chance to say goodbye to my family before she took me into custody. Told me to use the back door. I got up, started toward it when she called for me to turn around. When I did, she tossed _her_ gun at me. I caught it by reflex. Then she ordered me to put the gun down, holding _my _gun on me."

Gemma added that she realized then that Tyler had wanted to get her fingerprints on the gun that had killed Edmond Hayes. "There was nothing I could do but drop that gun and leave."

"And you never saw Agent Stahl?"

Gemma stared unflinchingly at the two agents standing behind the US Attorney. "Not once."

"You never struck Agent Stahl, nor Agent Tyler?"

"Never laid a hand on either of 'em," Gemma insisted.

The US Attorney had been making notes on a legal pad throughout the taped deposition. He made one that he underlined twice.

"How did you get back to Charming?" The US Attorney asked. "You said earlier you'd sent Dr. Knowles and your grandson away."

"I walked to the bus stop, bought a ticket to Charming."

"And that's when you decided to flee capture," he determined.

"That's about the long and the short of it."

"Who helped you get out of town?" The US Attorney asked.

Gemma smiled grimly. "Unless you've got another offer up your sleeve, I think that comes under the heading of privileged information."

The US Attorney stared unsmilingly back at her. "I'm afraid not."

Gemma shrugged. 'Not that I'd have given Wayne up to you anyway!'

He turned his attention to Agent Tyler. "I won't request your removal from duty until we investigate Mrs. Morrow's allegations. I need a copy of your duty roster, along with all reports you submitted for that day. Same goes for you and the rest of your team, Agent Stahl."

"Of course," Stahl replied matter - of - factly. "I'll have my team turn them in to me—"

"No, I'll contact your team individually for that," the US Attorney interjected. "I'd prefer to keep the reports from changing hands too many times."

"Of course," Stahl repeated herself, struggling to maintain her composure. 'He's quick on the uptake! I didn't see this coming!'

"I – I'll have to go back to the office," Tyler stammered. She was pale with worry. Her immediate future looked very grim. She didn't dare look at Stahl or the US Attorney for fear she'd start crying from sheer nerves.

"Attorney Lowen, I'd like to speak to you outside," the US Attorney added.

Stahl was relieved that she'd have that small window of opportunity to cover her ass. 'He'll be tied up for a bit. All I need to do is get away from Amy long enough to call the team, give them the heads up about the reports. They'll match the new story if they know what's good for them,'

"I'll be right back, Gemma," Lowen assured her client before following the US Attorney and the two agents from the room.

Tig climbed into the van's driver seat, nodding at Happy and eying the newly sewn patches on his cut. "Ya didn't waste any time puttin' those on."

"Why wait?"

Tig nodded. "Ready to roll?"

"Yeah!"

Tig started the ignition, rolling through the gates of the compound. The Teller - Morrow tow truck, driven by Piney followed behind him. The rest of the club, minus Clay and Jax, followed behind.

The tow truck and bikes continued on to the highway while Tig maneuvered the van to a spot not far from Medina Janitorial where he and Happy could keep an eye on it.

"Think Clay will have any luck with Unser?" Happy inquired after they'd sat quietly watching the warehouse gate.

"Dunno," Tig shrugged. "I don't like the idea that Unser's makin' up to Jacob Hale. That asshat's been tryin' to run us outta town for years."

"There's been talk in the county that Hale wants to dismantle CPD, turn law enforcement over to SJSD," Happy explained.

"Means Unser's nervous," Tig murmured. "Not as many black suits as khaki on the payroll."

Happy looked over at Tig, then back at the road. "Looks like Cat did a good job of cleanin' ya up. Look better than Kozik."

Tig grinned evilly. "I _always _look better than that fucktard any day of the week, brother. Appreciate the compliment of my girl's skills."

"She gettin' better?"

"Some, brother. She won't take it easy, that doesn't help. How's your mom?"

Happy sighed. "Same as your girl, I imagine"

"Feisty and frustrating. Won't rest when she's supposed to?"

Happy nodded,

"I think all women are that way, brother," Tig mused wryly.

They watched the compound, sitting up straight in their seats when two Harleys sporting ape hanger handle bars and two Calavarez turned into the parking lot. A few minutes later, the delivery van pulled out of the parking lot, followed a short time later by the Harleys.

Tig and Happy shrugged out of their cuts, placing them on the console between them. Happy moved to the back of the van as Tig pulled away from the curbside, following the twin Harleys.

"Stand by. I'm about to pass these Bozos!" Tig warned.

"Ready, brother."

Tig pulled to the left of the Harleys. He maintained a casual pose at the wheel, appearing not to notice what he was passing. Without his cut, he looked like any other civilian going about his business. Tig was careful not to make eye contact with either rider.

The van passed the motorcycles without incident and began to close the distance between it and the delivery van. "Intersection's comin' up!" Tig announced over his shoulder.

A single grunt indicated Happy was ready. He'd already inserted and tightened the silencer on his gun. He primed it and laid one hand on the latch for the sliding door.

The Medina Janitorial van pulled to a stop in the right lane, waiting for traffic to clear to make its' turn. Tig pulled to a stop in the left lane. The van was beside and a bit behind the delivery van.

Happy opened the van door just enough to see the rear tire, and that the coast was clear. He shot once into the rear tire. The hissing of air was the only sound he could hear of the bullet's passage. Then there a slight 'thud' and a puff of air escaped from the hole he'd made in the tire.

Happy closed the door, grinning and giving Tig the thumbs up. Traffic for the left and right turns had let up, allowing the Medina delivery van to turn right onto the highway.

Tig had his cell phone out as soon as Happy opened the van's side door, calling Piney to let him know they'd succeeded.

Piney opened his phone and barked a single word into the mouthpiece. "Yeah!"

"Headin' your way," Tig retorted.

"Gotcha." Piney glanced at Kozik and winked. "OK, Junior, we're up."

"I'm ready."

Piney grinned and pulled the tow truck from the side of the road, heading towards the intersection the delivery van had just left.

Tig knew a route that would enable him to double back to the meeting point before the tow truck arrived. He glanced in the rear view mirror as he completed the left turn. The twin Harleys had just reached the T intersection. Instead of stopping, they glided into the right turn after the van.

Happy returned to the front passenger seat. A slow smile of satisfaction lit his face. "That felt good."

"Don't worry, you'll get another chance to shoot that thing," Tig grinned.

"Do I look worried?" Happy growled. "I've missed this! Nomad charter doesn't get to have this kind of fun!"

"There it is! The Calavarez are stoppin' right behind them!" Kozik spotted the van pulling off to the side of the road ahead of them.

"Just like shootin' fish in a barrel," Piney murmured, pulling towards his side of the highway. He left some space between the van and the pair of Harleys parked behind it.

A few moments later, the disabled van was loaded onto the winch and one of the deliverymen was seated in the cab next to Kozik. The two Harleys rolled behind the van.

The leader and his assistant had remained behind. They weren't allowed to ride in the van as it was being towed and there was no more room in the tow truck cab. The Calavarez didn't offer to let them bitch ride.

The pre - arranged turn off came into view. Piney slowed the tow truck to make the right hand turn. The deliveryman questioned Piney's action and received Kozik's elbow to his face in answer. The blow stunned him, enabling Kozik to reach across the man, open the door, and toss him onto the ground.

The two Calavarez riders knew something wasn't right as soon as the van made the turn onto the unpaved road. They grew more alarmed when they saw the deliveryman fall from the tow truck cab. Neither stopped to check on him. They roared after the truck and its' cargo.

Piney and Kozik grinned at each other. The Calavarez had taken the bait and were about to be reeled in. They pulled to a stop next to the garage van. Immediately, the other Sons lined up with guns drawn. Tig was the only hold out, standing beside the open passenger door.

The Calavarez rode up on the line of armed Sons and promptly worked to get themselves turned around while bullets hit the ground around them.

The Sons were careful not to hit the riders or their bikes, firing up into the air or down into the ground.

The Calavarez zoomed away, not stopping to pick up the fallen deliveryman, who still lay sprawled in the dust. Like the other two occupants of the van, he could find his own way back to the warehouse.

The heroin shipment was quickly uncovered in the drums of cleaning supplies. It was already packaged for sale in balloons. The balloons weren't blown up, just tied at the top. Dealers preferred that method of delivery and sale.

Kozik looked pleased with himself over the success of the highjacking. He accepted the congratulatory back slaps from the other Sons for his work. The only person who withheld comment was Tig. He only stared at Kozik, his expression carefully neutral.

'Is he such a hard ass that he can't be happy the plan worked?' Kozik thought to himself, trying not to let his disappointment show. The rest of the club was pleased with him, that should've been enough. Strangely, to Kozik, it wasn't.

The two attorneys followed the agents through the double doors separating the jail ward from the rest of the hospital. The attorneys moved into the lounge, while Tyler and Stahl marched down the hall in the opposite direction.

Tyler was upset, and growing desperate with the need to talk to Stahl. She was barely able to restrain herself from speaking until they reached a relatively deserted portion of the hospital.

Stahl wracked her brain, trying to figure out how to get away from Amy without arousing suspicion. She knew she had a small window of opportunity to get the rest of the team's co - operation. 'At least we're in separate vehicles. If I have to, I can call from the car.'

Tyler hissed an inquiry at her lover's back. It wasn't loud enough for any passers - by to overhear, had there been another soul in the hallway. It seemed as loud as a gunshot to Stahl.

She assured Amy that Gemma was acting out of fear. "She's the one who just blew her deal to bits. We don't have anything to worry about!"

"We? _You_ were the only one in that house! Why didn't make any mention of your presence?" Tyler snapped.

"She'll be caught in her lie when the reports are examined. Who do you think the US Attorney is going to believe? Her, or Federal Agents in good standing?" Stahl had stopped to soothe her lover, then turned away to stride on down the hall. 'I'll have to make the call from my car, now!'

Tyler thought over Stahl's words, finding some comfort and merit in them. She realized once the US Attorney read all the reports. she'd be in the clear. She shook her head and hurried to catch up with Stahl.

Stahl continued walking, not caring whether Tyler managed to keep pace. She used her long legs to put some distance between her and her lover as she tapped a message into her cell phone.

"Proceed with what we discussed this morning. Stahl."

The court clerk felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. She dug it out, looked at the incoming message, then deleted it and returned the phone to her pocket. She moved quietly to the case assignment board. It was a dry erase board with permanent lines marking off squares to input the case, the judge assigned, and the trial date.

She quickly found the line marked 'SAMCRO bond revocation hearing'. She erased the date and wrote in a new date for two weeks in the future. She then made the same notation in the judge's calendar on the office computer.

'One good thing about the judges around here, they never ask why their calendars change every day. They're too busy to care!'

She dug her cell phone out, tapped out a few words, and pressed send. The entire operation had taken her less than three minutes.

Stahl felt her own phone vibrate, took it out of her pocket and skimmed the message. 'It's done.' She sighed inwardly. 'One piece locked in, now to get with the team!'

In the lounge, Ally Lowen was busily placating the US Attorney. "I had no idea that Gemma was going to implicate Agent Tyler in the death of Edmond Hayes!"

"She's really messed up her deal. I hope you realize that!"

" And I hope _you_ realize that Gemma admitted to killing Polly Zobelle in self defense, and the forensic evidence proves it. That's enough to keep the death penalty off the table, whether her claim against Tyler is proven or not!" Lowen argued.

"I'm aware of that," the US Attorney replied coldly. "But there _will _be consequences if the investigation clears Tyler. You'd better prepare her for that!"

He spun on his heel, collected his briefcase, and stormed from the lounge. Lowen stared after him for a moment, shaking her head wearily. Before returning to Gemma's room, she pulled out her cell phone to check her messages. She'd had it off during the deposition.

She listened to her messages and smiled with relief as she listened to the last one. 'Finally! Some good news!' She pocketed her cell phone and returned to the locked double doors to the jail ward to get some much needed answers from her wayward client.

Miss Anna skimmed through the list of supplies they were to purchase during their shopping excursion. Her eyebrows snaked up her forehead at the hand written additions at the bottom. "Cream cheese, graham crackers, and two more boxes of Snickers bars?"

"I think Miss Cat is planning to add something new to the confections menu," Pete grinned.

"And it's obviously something Mr. Tig inspired! Which means we won't get the chance to sell much of it. He'll confiscate it before we can put it out!"

"Sounds like it's a cheesecake offering. But why separate ingredients? Why not get a mix? Some of them are better than scratch."

Miss Anna shrugged. "You know how she is."

"Yeah, I know. Thing is, we're already making the muffins from a mix, and those are selling well. Same with the scones, even though we freeze a lot of the baked ones ahead of time! You can't freeze cheesecake that well, can you?"

"I think you can. There's a few frozen pre - made brands out there," Miss Anna replied.

"I think we ought to make an executive decision here." Pete announced, pulling into a parking space at the grocers'. They had taken his car instead of the PT. Cat wasn't letting anyone drive the new PT until Tig got to drive it, so the shopping was being done with their own vehicles. Pete didn't mind, and didn't turn in his mileage for reimbursement.

"What are you talking about?"

They climbed out of the car, and walked to the entrance. They both snagged a shopping cart on their way out of the parking lot. They had a system to make the shopping less of a chore by splitting the list between them and meeting up at the checkout.

"Why don't we check out the cheesecake options first?" Pete suggested. "We can compare the costs of buying a mix with all the ingredients as opposed to individual ingredients. Even factoring in the candy bars, I bet the mix will be less expensive."

Miss Anna nodded appreciatively. "We might also look at the type of servings. If she plans to sell 'em by the slice, how many slices can we get to an eight inch pan versus squares."

"You're on!"

Pete gathered the individual ingredients first, while Miss Anna picked up the two types of baking tins, and two of the better known mixes. The two met in the deli area, which offered tables and chairs for snacking. Pete used the back of his half of the list to make notes.

"It looks like the mix is the less expensive of the two options, and making one inch squares to sell will be more profitable in the long run than slices," Pete observed when they'd finished their brainstorming.

"I agree. Knowing Miss Cat, she'd opt to offer the squares at 50 cents each or 3 for a dollar to sweeten the pot."

Pete frowned and did some rapid calculations. "Hmmm. That's 33.3 cents each for three or two squares for one dollar. Yeah, that would definitely be a sweet deal to the customers."

Miss Anna fanned her hand in front of her nose. "That pun was rancid!"

Pete grinned unrepentantly. "Sorry, but it's true. Who wouldn't want to get three for less than the cost of two for the same one dollar bill?"

"Either way, the coffeehouse gets more money. Do you think Miss Cat will get hissed if we buy the mixes instead of what she asked for?"

Pete considered that for a moment. "I don't see why. She put us in the position to make decisions, based on what's right for the store. If she were 100% recovered, she would've thought of it herself."

Miss Anna nodded. "If she does get hissed, we can always present our reasoning behind the decision. She can't find fault with that!"

They separated again, Pete returning the individual ingredients for the cheesecake back where he found them, and completed their weekly shopping ritual, meeting up again at the checkout stand. They combined their purchases into one cart, then Pete pushed his empty cart around to the front of the checkout line to help bag the order.

Miss Anna paid the bill, collecting the change and storing it in a special bag she kept in her purse for shopping day. She was meticulous about keeping the coffeehouse money accounted for at all times.

They loaded the car and drove in companionable silence back to the coffeehouse. Pete parked his Honda in the five minute parking area, tooting his horn for Christopher and Adrian's attention. The two trotted outside and gathered several bags in both hands. With the four of them working, it took just two trips each to carry the grocery sacks into the back.

Pete moved his car to a long term parking spot, then returned to the coffeehouse to help Miss Anna log and store the supplies. He also found the cold leftover coffee in the small pot. 'Miss Cat's been experimenting with flavors again! Wonder what she made this time?'

He took a sniff and grinned to find it smelled like a melted Snickers bar. Though it had gone cold, he poured the remainder into a cup and tried a sip. 'This would be a hit with the after school crowd that we can't sell the whiskey blend to!' He quickly cleaned the small coffeepot for its next use.

Adrian, Miss Anna, and Christopher Johns were waiting in the front area. The staff meeting was always held before the after school rush, but Miss Cat hadn't appeared. Pete frowned in concern. 'It's not like her not to be ready for the meeting!'

The overhead light in the office was off, but the softer desk lamp was on, the computer in 'sleep' mode. He walked to the open door and found her sitting in the office chair, sound asleep.

"Miss Cat?" he called softly, not wanting to startle her.

She didn't make a response, not even a snore.

Pete crept forward and touched her lightly on the arm. "Miss Cat?" he called a little louder.

"Huh?" she stirred sleepily, then stretched. "Oh, hi. Y'all gettin' ready to go shoppin'?"

"We're already back. Everybody's waiting for you for the staff meeting," he explained.

"Dang! Didn't intend to fall asleep in here! Could you check the printer for me?" she asked, wiggling the mouse to get it out of 'sleep' mode.

"There's some stuff printed, still plenty of paper in it," Pete replied, handing the stack to her.

"Thanks, darlin'. Go on out front; I'll be with y'all in a bit."

"You OK, Miss Cat?" he asked worriedly. He'd never seen her fall asleep on the job during his tenure.

"Sure, darlin'," she assured him. "The wreck took a lot out of me; takes awhile to get back to full speed."

"Need any help?"

She shook her head. "Just fix my usual for the meeting, and tell 'the kids' I'll be there shortly."

"OK." He was still reluctant to leave her to her own devices. He knew she would only tolerate so much disobedience, even well intended.

Cat shuffled through the printed pages, separating out the pages according to their topic. One sheet was held out from the others; it was the label she'd made for the coffee she'd blended for Alex. She intended to package it so he could take it to Belfast.

She stood up, sighing heavily from the effort, then walked into the front of the coffeehouse. The staff was waiting in a far corner where they always met for the staff meetings. The meetings were held in the customer lounge so that no one missed the meeting to help a customer.

She settled gingerly into a chair, gratefully eying the cup of white mocha non fat no whip whiskey blend waiting for her. "Thanks for waitin' for me, kids," she stated, taking a sip of the hot beverage.

"First item of business, as Miss Anna and Pete already know, we're gonna offer a new pastry to the confection line up. They purchased the ingredients for bakin' day," she announced.

"Yeah, about that, Miss Cat," Pete spoke up, "Miss Anna and I did a little research for you, and we made an executive decision."

Cat's eyebrow inched into her fringe. "Oh, really? Please explain it to us." She picked up her cup and took another sip, using it to camouflage her smile.

Pete and Miss Anna exchanged nervous looks, wondering if they might have misjudged their employer's tolerance. They shrugged and Pete cleared his throat to speak.

He explained to his employer and co workers how they'd compared prices and possible revenue from sales of the new item during their shopping trip.

"What we determined, Miss Cat, was that the better brand name mix was going to be less expensive and time consuming than preparing from scratch," Miss Anna added nervously.

She took another swallow of her drink in order to keep her expression neutral. Inwardly, she was pleased and impressed at their dedication. She put the cup down on the table next to her and murmured, "Go ahead. I'm all attention."

The two exchanged dubious glances again, then Pete took another deep breath before plunging ahead. "We also figured out that the new confection, since its cheesecake based, would be best served as squares instead of slices. More sales to a pan for one, and you could offer more for one price, too. Say three squares for a dollar or one square for fifty cents."

Christopher and Adrian murmured admiration and support of their co - workers findings. They all turned to look at their employer, all eyes hopeful she would agree.

Cat remained silent for a few moments while her employees squirmed in their seats. She carefully brought her cup to her lips, acting as if she were giving the idea careful consideration.

'They did a good job. Shows how loyal they are to want to make this work." She was touched by their gesture.

She set the cup back down on the table next to her and shifted position in her chair. "I'm very impressed, kids, and very pleased all y'all showed imitative like this. Most employees would've just followed orders without question. I assume you two purchased the name brand mix."

It was a statement instead of a question, but Pete and Miss Anna nodded enthusiastically. "We figured that one inch squares would be workable, and the way the graham cracker crust hardens from the margarine, they won't fall apart like slices would," Miss Anna added.

"Very good thinkin', darlin'. The three squares for a dollar is a good idea, too. We'll be adding the Snicker Cheesecake Squares to the pastry line up next Monday," Cat announced.

"What about the new coffee blend you were working on?" Pete inquired.

"That's on hold for now," she explained, giving him 'The Look'.

"OK," Pete ducked back into his chair, accepting that the topic was no longer fodder for discussion.

She then shared with her staff the good news about the Stockton pastry concession. "I'll be doin' the deliveries to Stockton, none of y'all will have to do it. We'll just be doublin' the amount of ready to bake goods on bakin' day to freeze for future use."

Adrian lifted his hand for her attention. "Do we have to do anything special with the packaging?"

"Not really. It has to be shrink wrapped, but we already have that capability. We have a long roll of plastic made for shrink wrappin' in the store room. We can use a blow dryer to make the shrink wrap happen, and the printer is set up to make the labels," she explained.

She didn't share with them that the shrink wrap materials was among the things she'd brought with her from Indiana, and had been used in her late husband's video store to re wrap product after anti theft materials had been placed in the boxes. Those same anti theft items were now used on the merchandise to prevent five finger discounts.

"As far as inventory, nothin' different there. I'll have a list of how much product is taken to Stockton each week, they'll keep a record of what they sell and fax it to us the day before delivery. We take that amount, and a little extra for insurance of the more popular stuff right back to 'em."

"So it's really no more work than we're already doing," Miss Anna observed. The rest of the staff murmured their agreement and willingness to take on the added work.

Cat nodded, relieved her staff was accepting the additional work load with little fuss. It was also the perfect opportunity for her to share her intention to run for office.

"I have another announcement to make. This will affect the coffeehouse, but it won't affect all y'all directly," she continued. She handed a sheath of papers to Adrian. "Take one, pass it around."

When everyone had a sheet of paper, she motioned for them to read it to themselves. It didn't take them long, and when they had all finished reading, they gazed quizzically at her.

"Does this mean you're closing the business?" Adrian asked in a near whisper.

Cat's uninjured eye widened in surprise. "No, way, darlin'! We're gonna be busier than ducks after June bugs with the Stockton venture. The council seat is part time. Hell, I don't even know if the position has a salary!"

A rush of escaped air indicated all four of her staff had been holding their breath. She hadn't expected them to think her running for office would make them think they'd lose their jobs.

"I'm sorry, kittens! Guess my brain's still a little addled. _Charmin' Pawse _is **not **closin'. I wanted to tell y'all about my runnin' for city council because it's gonna mean my time and attention is gonna be divided, and y'all are gonna have to take initiative from time to time." She gazed approvingly at Pete and Miss Anna and added, "Somethin' y'all have proven you're capable of doin', so I have no worries there."

The two managers flushed from the praise. "But why are you entering politics, Miss Cat?" Pete asked.

"Jacob Hale is running for the mayor's seat. If he wins, he's going to try to turn downtown Charmin' into big box stores that will be lucrative for a select few. The council doesn't quite rubber stamp everything he suggests, but he does have a lot of pull."

Her employees exchanged knowing grins. Jacob Hale had vocally opposed the Peace Rally, going so far as to convince the council to deny Cat's request to use the city park. That denial had come by a slim majority vote. Rev. Chris Bush, an old friend of Cat's from Indiana, had offered the use of the United Methodist Church's fellowship hall for the rally.

Christopher John's eyes lit up. "You're gonna be the one to make sure the council doesn't jump when he yells 'frog'!"

"Exactly, darlin'. Town sentiment right now is with him, on account of how his brother died. He's gonna find out that town sentiment can be a two edged sword, and can hurt like dickens when it cuts!"

Adrian smiled with glee. "You're gonna remind people that he brought Zobelle and LOAN to town, which started the whole thing, aren't you!"

"If I have to," Cat replied. "After all, an awful lot of people _did_ see him introduce Zobelle and Westin to some very prominent people, including his deputy police chief brother. I suspect he wishes he hadn't chosen such a public place as the restaurant for those introductions!" Cat observed.

"It'll be just what he deserves to have people reminded that he is indirectly responsible for what happened to you!" Pete remarked. "Count me in on the campaign! We'll get the customers -"

Cat frowned and held up her hand for silence. "I appreciate your loyalty, but all y'all listen up and listen to me good!" She turned her good eye on each one of her employees before continuing. "The customers are _not _to be bothered about the campaign when they're here! When you serve them, you serve them food and drink, no politics!"

"But, Miss Cat! You're not in any condition to go door to door soliciting signatures for the petition!" Miss Anna protested. "I had to help my kids with a project, and studied the local process. You'd get the sympathy of the town behind you, but it would be at a terrible cost to you!"

"It's definitely not worth your health," Adrian put in.

"That may be. But I'm _not _goin' to stand for anyone on this staff harrassin' the customers about it. This is a get - away. We invite people to linger!"

Christopher read over the paper again, then looked up at her fierce expression. "I have an idea. We put stuff up on the bulletin board about community activities all the time, including the special events here. In a way, this is another special event."

The staff and Cat stared at him. "I think I see where you're going with this, CJ," Pete mused. "And you're right. We advertise the special events here, and what's more special than out boss runnin' for office? I'm sure other candidates will be wantin' to put their fliers up!"

Cat leaned forward, her good eye locked with Christopher's. "What's on your mind, darlin'?"

"We could put the petition up on the bulletin board, and just let people sign it if they happen to see it there. _We _don't say a word about it. Everybody checks out the bulletin board when they come in. They'll be bound to see the petition!" He explained.

Cat leaned against the seat back; her hand started rubbing the bridge of her nose as she thought over Christopher's proposal. "I think that's doable, darlin'. Just as long as none of you uns beleaguer the customers about it!"

"We wouldn't!" Adrian promised. "But why just leave it to chance? If we put out copies of the petition on the various tables, like we do the magazines, more people might see 'em and sign 'em!"

"There's no rule that says all the signatures have to be on one piece of paper," Miss Anna explained. "As long as there is a cover sheet with the exact same wording, followed by the signed sheets with the petition heading it, the election board won't have anything to fuss about."

"This narrative for your petition could use a little tweaking, Miss Cat," Christopher continued. "That's just 'cause you're not up to par. I'd like to give it a try for you!"

"And I'll be happy to draw up some banners and signs and stuff, later on down the line!" Adrian offered.

"Listen up, kittens! I appreciate your support, but I also don't expect y'all to help with this thing just 'cause you're employees. When you're on the clock, you have nothin' to do with the campaign! Are we clear?"

The quartet nodded vigorously. "We're behind you, Miss Cat," Pete added. "You've already done a lot of good here. We want to help you any way we can."

"There's one other thing all y'all need to know," Cat replied huskily. "It's probably gonna come out durin' the campaign, and I'd rather y'all hear it from me then through the grapevine." She took a deep breath and added, "Tig and I aren't just 'livin' together'. We've been married for months."

"Is that all?" Adrian hooted.

"That's not been a secret to us!" Pete added.

"Say what?" Cat growled. 'Were we _that _careless?'

"Oh, c'mon Miss Cat!" Christopher Johns remarked. "We're around you more often than anyone else, except Mr. Tig. It's only natural that we'd figure it out."

"Yeah," Pete added. "You light up whenever he's here, and the way you two interact is more than just a boyfriend/girlfriend type of thing."

"Then there's that possessive attitude of Mr. Tig's where you're concerned," Miss Anna mused. "Which is why you're going to get out of here, and let us handle things for the rest of the day. We've covered everything, and you need to go rest so you'll heal!"

Cat grinned wryly. "Y'all are takin' that initiative thing to heart, I see! Christopher, you have my permission to 'tweak' the petition. Just let me see your final draft before y'all print it."

"May I use the computer?"

"After Pete and Miss Anna get done using it for store stuff," she replied. "You'll find a folder has been set up on the computer screen for anything having to do with the primary. It's labeled - "

"-Primary!" Adrian interjected.

"Give that man a biscotti!" Cat laughed. "Meeting's adjourned, and I'm goin' home." She accepted Pete's arm as a lever to help her up, waiting until her legs felt steady enough to support her. "Y'all know how to reach me if there's need."

She limped from the room, out towards the back and her house. Her employees watched her slow, painful retreat.

"Do you think Mr. Tig knows about this?" Miss Anna breathed after the back door closed behind her. Pete had already vanished into the office to enter the numbers into the inventory program.

"Are you kiddin'?" Adrian hooted. "Of course he knows! I just wonder if the club put the idea to him and he asked her."

Pete glared out the open door at them. "If any of you think she'd allow anyone, including Mr. Tig, to treat her like a puppet, you'd better think again! Miss Cat's far too independent to let anyone control her."

"Mr. Tig knew," Christopher added. "Look at how she considers him all the time. Snicker Cheesecake _has_ to be on account of him!"

"Too true," Pete replied. "So let's do our best to make sure _no one _can claim she's misusing' the coffeehouse - and us - for her campaign!"

"I'm on it," Christopher exclaimed, clocking out for the day. He then slipped into the office before Pete or Anna could get to the computer.

Clay parked his bike at the rendezvous point, flexing his arthritis filled fingers for a moment before removing his helmet and dismounting. The Grim Bastards and most of his men were already present.

An engine roaring up from behind alerted him to his VP's arrival. The Mayans and Calavarez had yet to arrive. Clay waited for Jax to park and dismount. He leaned against the side of his bike with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Any luck with Unser?" Jax inquired as he approached Clay.

"None. He's not happy that we're gonna jump bail. Surprised he's not on our tail," Clay murmured.

"Happy said he'd heard rumors that SJSD wants to absorb Charming PD, and that Hale is in favor it. Might be why he was gettin' chummy with Hale the other day."

"Maybe. Did you get Tara on board?"

Jax grimaced. "I'd rather keep her out of it, but she's willin' to help us. I'll pick her up after this meet is over. She's says she knows of a couple of clinics that could use the stuff. Also said the sale would go better with her along."

Clay smirked a little. "She might be right."

'I can't get my mother to do what the club needs for her to do, while I can't keep my woman away from bein' hurt by the club. That is some pretty fucked up shit!' The sound of approaching motorcycles prevented Jax from responding to his stepfather. The Mayans and Calavarez had arrived for the meet.

"C'mon. Let's get this over with," Clay sighed.

The meeting place was an area under an abandoned railroad bridge, far from the curious eyes of civilians. The bridge and the area around it had been long taken over by weeds, trash, and graffiti art.

Marcus Alvarez, along with his officers, dismounted from their bikes. Salazar and his few remaining Calavarez brethren had come with them, at Alvarez' request.

Marcus had not risen to the presidency of his club through his good lucks and riding ability. He was a shrewd businessman and leader. His men were unquestionably loyal to him. They enjoyed a good living under his leadership.

Salazar, on the other hand, wasn't as smart as Alvarez. He'd risen to his presidency through deceit, backstabbing, and murder. Many of his men had died in the line of battle, mostly turf skirmishes with the better armed Grim Bastards.

The Calavarez club was losing power, influence, and members. It was dying a slow, painful death. Salazar felt the only way to save his club was to patch over into the larger Mayan organization.

Alvarez had been hesitant to accept the struggling Calavarez into his ranks. Salazar was like a land mine, ready to explode with the slightest touch. 'His men might be useful, but the officers are wild cards, and cannot be trusted.' Alvarez decided to test the Calavarez' mettle and had found it not very strong.

The drive by had been a tactical failure. Civilians were not supposed to be hurt, but two, including a child, bore injuries. Charming's Deputy Chief had been run over like a mangy cur in the road. One of the shooters had been captured and was in the process of making a deal with the Feds.

"I'm going to give you one last chance, _esse._" Alvarez informed Salazar the day after the drive by. "I'm putting your club in charge of security at Medina Janitorial."

Salazar's eyes had flashed with anger. "You want my men to guard a bunch of shit?" He anger over the disrespect he felt was being shown to his club and to him as president.

"That _shit," _Alvarez retorted quietly, "is not just cleaning shit. It is the way we deliver our product into Stockton. The chemicals are in high demand, but not for cleaning shit, _comprende?" _

Alvarez voice oozed menace. Salazar could only see what was in front of him. He could not or would not see the bigger picture, and that made him a liability as far as Alvarez was concerned.

Salazar's eyes gleamed with anger. "You could have just said so!"

"I believe I did," Alvarez replied in that same calm, cold manner. "Perhaps you would prefer returning to Lodi. Without Mayan backup."

Salazar reluctantly accepted the assignment. He felt the assignment was beneath him, and spent as little time there as possible. He just happened to be present for appearances sake when his men caught an intruder.

The small white male had stood out like a sore thumb, not just because of his size and lack of Hispanic heritage. He only had one finger on each hand. He was also snooping close to the area where the heroin was processed for delivery. His men had captured the intruder, and Salazar, thinking the man was operating alone, decided to engage in some fun. His men held the little guy by the arms as Salazar used him for a punching bag.

Suddenly, an out of control forklift knocked over barrels of chemicals, allowing the small man to escape. Salazar had heard a voice urging the intruder to hurry up, but he was in no position to go after the invader. He'd decided against informing Alvarez of the incident. 'What danger could one little man do to us?'

Alvarez knew about the intruder. He had an employee at the warehouse on his payroll. The employee had immediately alerted him to the uproar. It angered him that Salazar never brought the news to him.

Alvarez sensed that SAMCRO was involved, but he had no proof. The man who'd given a false business name prior to the intruder being captured had disappeared. The worker who'd spoken with the man could only give a basic description.

"I think you should send more than two riders to escort the delivery," Alvarez informed Salazar the day of the scheduled Stockton run. "There should be two in the lead and two at the back."

"That's bullshit, man!" Salazar hissed. "You talk like I don't know what I'm doin'! Might as well put a neon sign on the van! It'll draw too much attention!"

Alvarez glared at Salazar with a cold expression that always put the fear of God into better men than the Lodi president. Salazar didn't back down.

"All right. We'll play this your way," Alvarez allowed gracefully. He had a feeling that the delivery wouldn't make it to Stockton, so it came as no surprise when his VP, who'd been riding in the van, called to report a seemingly innocent flat tired had delayed them.

"These guys in a tow truck happened on the scene, offered us a lift to get a new rim and tire. One of my men is riding with them. The Calavarez are following."

"What garage is the truck with?"

"There was a 'T' and 'M' on the door, and a telephone number."

Alvarez closed his eyes for a moment, holding back the urge to throw his cell phone across the pavement. "That's a Teller - Morrow truck, _esse. _SAMCRO has our delivery."

"What do you want me to do?"

'Go to Hell!' Alvarez thought angrily. "Get back to the club and wait for further orders," he replied tersely.

He glared across the lot at Salazar, who was leaning against the wall of the clubhouse in the shade. A beer bottle dangling loosely in one hand, a cigarette was stuck in the other.

"Salazar! We have trouble!" Alvarez called in a tone that demanded immediate compliance.

Salazar reluctantly moved from his perch. "What kind of trouble?"

"SAMCRO has hijacked the delivery, right under _your_ nose!" Alvarez snapped, one finger tapping the back of his cell phone. He knew either Clay, or the SAMCRO SAA would be calling soon to confirm his suspicions.

He'd known there was going to be trouble after he'd received a suspicious call from the SAMCRO SAA that very morning. Tig had told Alvarez he would want to meet with Clay after 3pm, and he'd know why. 'I should've gone with my gut instinct!'

"That's impossible!" Salazar spat. "SAMCRO has no way of knowing when we'd make delivery! They don't have the manpower to watch us every stinkin' day!"

"Your problem, _esse, _is that you are too blind to see what is happening right in front of you. That intruder you and your boys beat up was a diversion while one of SAMCRO's men was getting intel."

Alvarez' cell phone rang. The caller ID showed the same telephone number that had called earlier. "Alvarez."

"Tig. We have something you're missing," he quickly gave the location of the meet before signing off.

"You and your cockroach club will come with me," Alvarez announced. He gave a signal to his VP and SAA to mount up.

Salazar signaled to his own men, who rushed to their bikes. Moments later, the Calavarez bikes pulled from the clubhouse, following Alvarez and his officers.

Salazar glanced at his men as they joined ranks with the Mayans. His men were gazing nervously across the dirt at their enemy, the Grim Bastards. Salazar felt just as nervous as his men, but he wasn't going to let them see him sweat. The presence of Clay Morrow and his SAMCRO club made him even more uncomfortable.

Clay and Alvarez spoke together in front of the men, both acknowledging the need for hostilities to end between the two clubs. He gestured to Chibs, who walked forward with two duffel bags. He opened one to reveal the missing packaged heroin balloons.

A red haze of anger stole over Alvarez' sight. 'I knew this would happen! I warned Salazar to keep his eyes open! He refused to take me seriously!' He shoved Salazar away from his side with an explosive oath, sending the Calavarez president careening into the other riders.

Alvarez forced himself to regain his composure. He breathed deeply, willing the red haze of anger to dissipate. When he turned back to the Sons and the Bastards, his face was a mask of calm.

Clay and Jax offered the Calavarez safe passage through their territory. Their only condition was that the Calavarez not be patched over. Neither SAMCRO nor the Grim Bastards wanted a Mayan charter in Lodi.

Salazar heard the death knell clanging, shattering all his hopes to save his club. He vehemently protested to Alvarez. Next thing Salazar knew, he was the recipient of a vicious punch from one of the Mayan officers that forced him to the ground.

The provision against not patching over the Calavarez wasn't hard for Alvarez to agree to. He'd not been happy with the work the Calavarez had done for him.

As for the other provisions, which included giving a piece of the action to the Grim Bastards along with using that club as the delivery escort, along with paying a toll to SAMCRO for safe passage to Stockton, was a different matter.

Alvarez held a whispered conference with his VP. Though he could just make an executive decision, this was something that affected his entire crew. He wasn't willing to put the matter up to a full vote unless his VP felt it was necessary.

"We have to do something, Marcus," the VP sighed. "The Calavarez obviously aren't up to the job. The _negras _are willing to work for us. What's a few thousand in exchange for getting the entire product to Stockton? We can always raise the price to them. It's not like they can go to the competition!"

"That's true," Alvarez whispered back. "Overhead is always passed along the economic trail." Alvarez clapped his VP on the back and turned to cement the deal with Clay.

A somber, angry glare from Salazar reminded him of another loose end that he needed help to tie up. Alvarez explained that Pozo was going to turn State's evidence against the Mayans. He would agree to all of Clay's demands if SAMCRO took out Pozo.

Salazar hadn't known that his brother was turning rat. Nor did he believe it possible. 'Pozo would never sell out!' He glared at Alvarez, hatred shining like flames in his eyes.

"It's true, _esse. _There are SJSD deputies on the Mayan payroll. It came out in casual conversation at a bar."

"No!" Salazar brayed.

"I've never lied to you, _esse. _I'm not lying about this. Pozo offered to turn all of us in about the heroin shipments in exchange for a lighter sentence and transfer out of California," Alvarez explained almost kindly. "He's due to make a written statement tomorrow."

The news hit Salazar like a cannon ball to the gut. Sheer hatred roared defiantly inside him to learn of Pozo's fate. He couldn't accept that Pozo would lose his life at the hands of the club that had stripped him of his dignity just a few days ago.

Thanks to SAMCRO, he'd lost his personal dignity, his club's salvation, and a financial nest egg for his club. All he had left was the remnants of his dying club, and his woman. He felt he couldn't sink any lower.

Alvarez, acting as if the thought had just occurred to him, mentioned that the Mayans had found something SAMCRO was missing. He motioned to one of his men, who pulled a folded piece of leather bearing a 'SAMCRO' patch on it.

'My cut!' Juice's spirits soared. No matter that a burly, probably unwashed Mayan had stored it under his own cut and underarm for God only knows how long. He was going to get his cut back.

Alvarez tossed the leather vest to Juice, who caught it and immediately put it on. The comfortable leather wrapped around his body like a lover. He didn't need much persuasion to teach Salazar what happens when another club steals a SAMCRO cut.

Juice literally mopped the entire area with Salazar, right in front of his own brothers, and the other three clubs. No one cheered, or shouted encouragement. The entire group stood in a loose circle around Juice and Salazar, watching as the Calavarez leader received the beating he deserved.

June pulled into the driveway, turned off the ignition, and sat in the silence of the car, gathering her chaotic thoughts about her. She was relieved that Alex's Dyna wasn't in the drive. She needed a session of 'cawfee church' with her friend. There were concerns weighing heavily on her mind that she needed to discuss with her heart sister.

She didn't have to check at the coffeehouse to see if Cat was working there. She'd already called there and was advised by Miss Anna that her boss had gone home right after the staff meeting.

June slipped into the house, grateful that Ebony and the other cats were still at the coffeehouse, soaking up attention from the customers. 'Gettin' into the house is a lot easier when that 20 pound ball of fur isn't waitin' to spring at the door!'

She set her briefcase and knitting bag in the library/guest room, changed clothes, then set up the coffeemaker for a fresh brew. 'Hope she's in the mood for cawfee church!'

The crock pot had been set on high; a roast with broth and plenty of veggies was simmering inside. June turned down the heat so the broth wouldn't dry out and make the meat tough. She couldn't resist lifting the lid and taking a whiff of the delectable aroma. 'Too bad it'd take too long to bake bread! Fresh baked bread would go well with that! But it'll take too long to thaw out the frozen dough. Wonder if she has biscuits?'

A check of the refrigerator revealed two tins of buttermilk biscuits. 'Well, not as good as bread, but it'll do. I imagine it won't matter to Alex one way or the other.'

June walked quietly back down the hall to the master bedroom. The door was partly open, but the room was dark. June slipped past the door and stood quietly, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

Cat was lying on the made up bed, one arm in her sling across her chest. She was asleep, and June felt a momentary twinge of guilt at needing to disturb her. 'Lord knows she needs the rest! Maybe I can wrangle some time with her later, though I'd rather talk to her without Alex around."

June turned to leave but a slight stirring from the bed stopped her. "Don't go, kittenface."

"Sorry, chick. Didn't mean to wake y'all."

Cat sat up, yawning and stretching experimentally, grunting from the soreness in her ribs. "I needed to get up anyway. Can't sleep the day away." She sniffed the air appreciatively. "Is that fresh coffee brewin'?"

"Yup," June walked to the foot of the bed and sat down.

"Appears someone's interested in cawfee church."

"If y'all don't mind," June admitted.

"Just give me a few to wake up and get vertical. Do you want to sit inside, or go out in the backyard?"

"Backyard, if your eye can handle it."

"No worries, darlin'. I'll just wear both sunshades. Be with y'all in a minute."

"I'll wait in the kitchen," June replied, standing up and exiting the bedroom to give her friend a little privacy.

Cat limped into the living room a few minutes later, sunglasses already in place. June was pouring out the coffee and had her knitting bag next to the door.

"Y'all can't wait to get out there!" Cat observed, accepting the coffee cup from her friend and opening the door.

"Y'all would too, if you'd been cooped up in a windowless office all day! It's not gonna kill y'all to be in the sun for awhile!" June retorted, marching to the set of chairs in the backyard.

The women got themselves comfortably settled. Cat stretched her legs out in front of her, letting her neck rest against the back of the rounded metal chair. Though the light caused her some distress, she lifted her fact into the sun's warming rays, much the way the cats did when they slept in the sunbeam in their coffeehouse room.

June set out her MP3 player so they'd have music to listen to, then produced her current knitting project and began to work where she'd left off. Neither of them spoke, which was normal when they met for cawfee church. They could enjoy the silence of their long standing camaraderie without worrying that their cell carriers had dropped the call.

'June must have somethin' on her mind for her to call 'cawfee church' to order while Alex is away.' Cat thought to herself, allowing the music and the familiar clicking of the knitting needles to soothe her.

"Are y'all happy with the way your life's turned out, chick?" June inquired as the strains of Gerry Rafferty's '_Baker Street' _drifted from the MP3. She had selected a collection of tunes from the late 70s, when they had met at Vincennes University.

Cat's foot wiggled in time to the music, which was a pleasing blend of pop and rock tunes from the era when they had both been young and carefree. "Like the choice of tunes. As for your question, yes I am, most of the time."

"_Most _of the time?"

"Hell, June. I'd be lyin' if I said it was absolutely purrfect! Why do y'all ask?"

June pointed her empty knitting needle at her friend, indicating the bandages, cast, and bruises. "Those injuries. If I hadn't read the news accounts and seen the doctor's report from your admission, I'd have thought y'all had been used as a punchin' bag again!"

Cat shifted in her chair, turning her good eye on June. "Sounds to me like y'all think that anyway."

"Hate to admit it, but I did initially think so."

Cat opened her mouth to protest, but June pointed the empty knitting needle at her to stop the comment. "Glad to know I'm wrong. But y'all gotta remember that there were too many times that Brownie and the drunken dope fiend got away with beatin' on y'all!"

"True, dat. Least until I grew a backbone and learned to fight back. Is that why you seem to be a little nervous around Alex at times?"

"Not exactly," June replied, returning her attention to her knitting.

Cat snorted again. "Then it's the kind of man I married that has your drawers in a wad."

June nodded sheepishly. "Guilty as charged, chick. Y'all have worked really hard to cultivate the same friendship between me and Alex as you did with Bill and myself. But -" June's voice trailed off, as if she was reluctant to continue the conversation.

"Go ahead and get it off your chest. Surely y'all know by now that you can tell me what's on your mind. It's not like I'm gonna take the baseball bat to y'all!"

"I'd poke y'all with my bamboo knittin' needles if you tried," June retorted in a mock threat. "And don't call me 'Shirley'!"

Cat grinned and settled back into the chair, turning her face up into the sky once more. The fact that June had participated in the old joke indicated to her things weren't as dire as she feared. Cat hoped her relaxed posture would encourage June to continue to vent.

"What bothered me the most was that it seemed like y'all were havin' a Brownie flashback. Bill was such a straight shooter in comparison to Brownie and the drunken doper! He was the best thing to happen to you."

"Y'all won't get any argument from me on that!"

"Damn right! Bill _never_ raised a hand to y'all and brought stability to your life. He loved y'all with all his heart, even though he didn't do and say all the romantic shit described in books and tee vee. He really bent over backward to make y'all happy," June added.

"Y'all think I don't know that, kittenface?" Cat whispered softly. Being reminded of all that Bill been to her _still_ hurt her heart. Alex had done a lot to fill that void in her heart and soul, but there was still a dead spot that had belonged to Bill. 'It's just like I told Alex about Missy; the love never dies, and you never get over it, even when you move on!'

"I really wondered about that at times, chick, especially durin' that last year. Y'all really ragged on him about the amount of time he spent at the video store. I'm not sayin' this to be hurtful, but sometimes your rantin' and ravin' was a lot like Mrs. Humphries bitchin' about the church's demands on your dad."

"Oh, shit! Them's fightin' words, woman!" Cat joked weakly. There was more than a grain of truth in June's observation. "We were doin' great until he left the furniture store to manage that national chain video store. I was against it; but he said it wouldn't be like the locally owned store he'd managed when we first married."

"Turned out you were on the right track, chick," June murmured, furiously moving the yarn along her needles.

"Wish I hadn't been. At times the problems with the store were worse than the smaller local chain!"

"I know, chick," June interjected softly. "I was there for every cawfee church when y'all got upset over the video store takin' him away from an event. He really didn't like it any more than y'all did. God knows you both cried on my shoulders about it."

Cat turned a surprised gaze on her friend. "_Bill_ cried on your shoulder?"

"OK, maybe he didn't cry, but he definitely sought my council a few times," June admitted with a wry grin.

Cat's eye narrowed when June's eyes suddenly dropped from meeting her good eye to look at her knitting. She knew her friend had far too much practice to need to watch what she was doing. "OK, kittenface. What are y'all tryin' to hide from me?"

June shook her head. "It's not gonna do y'all any good to know this now! It's as useful as shuttin' the barn door after the prize stallion ran off with all the females in the herd."

Cat's fingers beat a steady rhythm on the arm of her chair. She was prepared to wait the entire night if she had to, and she knew June knew it.

"Damn you and your stubbornness!" June hissed, realizing her friend wasn't going to give up. "Y'all are worse than a dog chewin' on a bone! This is gonna hurt y'all, but you done asked for it!"

"Then I'll accept the consequences! Out with it!"

"Bill knew y'all weren't happy with his job and had been lookin' for a better one. He got an offer to manage a more upscale furniture store than the one he'd left. He'd gone through all the interviews, background checks, and then they asked him to take a drug screen."

"Which usually means they want to hire y'all," Cat observed. "How did y'all find out about it?"

June's fingers flew over her knitting. "He called me the mornin' he was killed. Said he'd passed the test and they wanted him to start the followin' week. He intended to give notice that day and then tell y'all that night when he got home."

The thought that Bill planned to change jobs just to please her made her momentarily happy, then the realization set in that he'd never gotten the chance to tell her the good news, and their last conversation hadn't been a pleasant one.

Cat's stomach felt as if an iron fist had slammed into it. The breath rushed out of her lungs while a red haze obscured her vision. She bent over at the waist, forcing herself to breathe slowly and deeply in order to overcome the wave of guilt that washed over her.

June dropped her knitting to the table, not caring whether it fell in their coffee cups or not. "Shit! I _knew_ this would happen!' She leaped to her feet, fearing her friend might fall from her chair. "Do y'all need me to call Alex?"

Cat remained bent over in her chair. "No!" she gasped. "Th - there's nothin' he can do about it. Dammit to Hell, this hurts!"

"I tried to warn y'all," June replied softly, rubbing Cat's back in a comforting manner.

Cat couldn't accept June's comfort. She shrugged off her friend's hand and got up from the chair, walking around the back yard on legs that threatened not to support her. She willed herself to remain upright instead of crumpling to the grass in a heap of misery.

Hot tears of anguish poured down her cheeks, quickly soaking the gauze pad covering the injured one. She clenched her hands into fists. Her injured arm had slipped out of the sling when she got up. Cat stood still, her back to June as she wrestled with her guilt and pain. "Why would he tell y'all before he told me?"

June stood up and walked over to stand behind her friend. She didn't try to touch her with another comforting gesture. She knew Cat wouldn't accept it in her current frame of mind.

"He was usin' me as a soundin' board at the time, chick, and wanted to bounce the idea off me before he told y'all. Right or wrong, I suggested he surprise with y'all with the done deal."

Cat inhaled a ragged, shuddering breath. She felt as betrayed as the day all those years ago in Terre Haute when she discovered that June was dating her boyfriend.

"I know what you're thinkin', chick. I'm sorry," June said softly, a note of sadness in her voice.

"I can't talk about this right now," Cat whispered hoarsely. "Go sit. Turn up the MP3 player. I need to do some _tai chi."_

"In your condition?" June asked incredulously.

"It's either that, or I do somethin' destructive!" Cat turned around so her friend could see her expression. The pain was etched on her face, which had lost all the color she'd gained from resting.

"If you do the kicks, y'all might hurt yourself!" June protested.

"I promise not to kick. No '_Jade Maiden Working Her Loom'. _I just need to move and breathe and get calm again."

June nodded and returned to her chair. She retrieved her knitting, which hadn't fallen into the coffee cups, and turned up the volume on the MP3 player so that Cat could hear it across the yard.

Cat took a deep breath and started the first position in her _tai chi _moves. June's clicking needles provided a counter beat to the MP3 player.

Neither of them heard the sound of a motorcycle engine roar up the street and into the drive. The music was loud enough to cover the noise and both women were too intent on their thoughts to worry about anything beyond the back yard gate.

Tig knew he would be charged with the task of ending Pozo's life. It was part of what he did as the Sergeant at Arms. 'This won't be easy. Gonna need a diversion to get past the guards and a way to block the cameras. Can't do this solo. Gonna hafta get intel from Jax and Clay about the layout.'

The club assembled in the chapel as soon as they returned from the meet. Because he hadn't been voted into the mother charter, Kozik was prepared to sit outside with the prospects.

"Get your ass in here, Koz!" Clay growled, ignoring the fiery glare from his SAA. "You're still a fully patched member of SAMTAW. We can use your input as much as any other member."

Kozik had to work hard to keep a triumphant grin from lighting his face. He remained calm as he passed through the chapel doors, settling into the same corner seat he'd occupied earlier.

Tig glared stonily at Kozik before settling into his own chair to Clay's right at the table. A small, triumphant smile touched his lips. 'Kozik might be in the clubhouse, but he has a long way to go to be able to sit at this table!'

"A'right, men. We've agreed to take out Pozo for Alvarez. Tig, that's your job."

Tig nodded and turned his chair so that his attention was fully on Clay and Jax. "Where are the surveillance cameras?"

"Camera," Jax replied. "Only one, right at the doorway where the guard station is located. I checked the entire hallway, that's the only one and it's in the corner, so all it gets is your back, until you turn to go into a room."

Tig's eyebrows rose a bit at the news. "One camera? Are they stupid?"

"Jail ward's not like the other wards," Jax shrugged. "There's only the one doorway, locked from inside. The hourly security guard sits in that booth, controls the lock. Main hall has four patient rooms, two on each side. Pozo's is first on the right. Mom's is next."

'I can't believe those idiots would put Gem right next to an enemy!' Tig frowned intently at that news, glancing around the table to note the entire club shared his feelings. Other than the near constant presence of Clay and Jax, the only barriers preventing a Calavarez attack on Gemma was the county deputy and the Fed standing guard before their doors.

"There's two other patient rooms in that first hall," Jax continued. "Hall ends in a 'T'. Turn left, there's a few more patient rooms and a supply closet. The hall dead ends. Go back the way ya came, more patient rooms, another supply closet for the maintenance staff. At the end of the hall, another right turn takes ya to another dead end, and the fire exit leadin' to the stairs."

"Fire exit is locked. Only way to unlock it is if the fire alarm goes off, or someone picks the lock and causes the alarm to go off," Clay added sourly. "There's no nurse's station in that area. Nurses come and go from outside the ward."

Tig listened intently, mentally drawing a map of the jail ward in his head. "I'd feel better havin' that camera disabled so it doesn't record me."

"You can take Chuckie along to make a diversion. He's very good at that," Clay offered with a grin.

"I don't like that," Tig protested. "Last time he helped us out, he got a pretty good beatin'."

"Ask him. Chuckie is a friend. If he wants to help, let him," Clay ordered his friend. "It's up to him."

"Copy that," Tig grunted reluctantly. "How do ya want me to do it? Suffocate him?"

"Takes too long and the fucktard could try to fight ya," Happy growled. "You're not gonna have a lot of time."

"Jest inject an aire booble inta 'is IV loin," Chibs stated.

Happy shook his head. "Doesn't work as well as ya think, much too obvious and when it does work, it's fast. Ya want somethin' that won't raise suspicions or take too long or not long enough."

"Got any suggestions?" Tig inquired.

"Cyanide. Inject it into the IV. Works slow, will look like his heart quit on him."

"What if they do an autopsy?" Opie asked quietly.

Happy shrugged. "What about it? Unless they're lookin' for drugs they won't notice it."

"And there's no reason for 'em to be lookin' for drugs as the cause," Clay added. "Hap, I expect you can furnish that?"

"Oh yes I will!" Hap's eyes gleamed intently at the prospect.

"Gemma's gonna have Lowen take her for a walk around the ward. That'll leave the county mountie and the security guard. The agent will follow the girls at a discreet distance," Clay announced.

"Opie, you'll be our watchman," Jax added, glancing at the tall, quiet rider, who nodded slightly. "When you see that both guards have taken off after Chuckie – "

Tig stirred as if to protest involving the numbers man. Jax held up a hand and continued, "- or whoever sets off the fire alarm and taunts the guards to give chase – you'll give Tig the all clear. You can also keep the doors from lockin' when the guards take off."

Jax glanced across the table at the SAA, his expression clearly inquiring if Tig was satisfied with the solution.

Tig nodded, then barked, "What about the damn camera? The guards might abandon their post to give chase, but the damn thing will record anyone approachin' the doors!"

"No problem!" Kozik offered from his spot in the corner.

Tig turned to glare at his former friend. "Oh yeah smartass?"

Clay held up his hand. "Talk, Kozik."

Kozik returned Tig's glare and replied, "Take a couple of maintenance uniforms outta the employee locker room. Carry a ladder past the double doors, place it in front of the camera. The top of the ladder will block the lens. The only thing it records is the ladder."

Clay nodded at the simplicity of Kozik's idea. "All that's in the hospital basement. Service elevator lets ya off near the nurses' station. Maintenance comes and goes all the time. Good idea, Koz."

"With the cyanide hidden in a toolbox, I'm gonna need another man to handle the ladder and set it in front of the camera," Tig observed.

"Whazza matter, Tiggy? Too weak to carry a toolbox and a ladder at the same time?" Kozik taunted.

"Use your brains for somethin' besides cushionin' your ass!" Tig growled. "Ya have to put the toolbox down in order to put the ladder in place. That takes time while the damn camera is fixed right on ya and recordin' your image for someone to try to ID."

"Tig's right," Juice offered. "Two men is better in this case. One can deal with the ladder while the other carries the toolbox." He glanced at Tig and added "I'll do it."

Clay had a sudden idea. The situation between Tig and Kozik was like walking blind through a mine field. He needed the two to be able to work together, not be at each other's throats. He felt the best way to accomplish that was to make them work together on a few missions, starting with Pozo. "Not this time, Juicy. Kozik gets to help Tig."

"I'm not workin' with someone I can't trust!" Tig exploded, slamming his hand onto the table.

"Get over it. You, Koz, Opie, and Chuckie get this mission. Handle it." Clay slammed the gavel onto the wooden circle, signifying the meeting was over.

The men slowly filed out of the chapel. Happy took off to prepare the cyanide syringe while Opie went searching for Chuckie to get him ready to go with them. Clay and Tig remained in the chapel while the remainder of the club wandered into the bar area of the clubhouse.

The door shut behind Jax, who was the last man out. Kozik approached him about the mission. "Look, I'm willin' and able to do anything to help the club, but ya can see Tig's not happy about havin' me on his team. Let Juice go instead."

Jax shook his head. "Clay's call, man. It was your idea; you're just as good as Juice." He lowered his voice to a conspirational whisper. "I suspect Clay has it in his head to force the two of you to work your differences out by workin' together."

Kozik wrinkled his nose. "Hell will freeze over before Tig thaws out where I'm concerned!"

Inside the chapel, Tig glared at his best friend. "Why did you do that?"

"Whether you like it or not, we need Kozik. The only way you're gonna trust him is to work _with _him, instead of fightin' him. So you get to work with him. Case closed."

Clay stood up and sauntered out of the chapel, leaving a sullen SAA in his wake. Tig rubbed the bridge of his nose, fighting off a headache. 'I have a really bad feelin' about this.'

Ally Lowen strode to the double doors to the jail ward, intent on reading the riot act to her client. The news she'd just received from the court clerk's office didn't make her feel any better about Gemma's situation.

She paused momentarily in front of the Fed guarding Gemma's door. He wore a smirk on his face that seemed a mile wide. "Looks like you're earning your retainer today!"

Lowen returned his remark with a silent stare. The smirk left his face as he stepped out of her way, muttering to himself. Lowen opted to ignore him, straightened her shoulders, and slipped into Gemma's room.

She found Gemma leaning against the cabinet counter, apparently talking to Clay on her cell phone. She nodded at Lowen and disconnected the call. She could tell that Lowen was exasperated with her for changing her story. Clay had just reminded her not to say anything about the club's intention not to attend the bond revocation hearing to the attorney after asking her to set up a meeting with Elliot Oswald.

Gemma's initial response to the attorney's inquiry was a flippant remark about changing her mind. Lowen's entire body slumped slightly, as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. 'She's not making this any easier!'

Gemma immediately felt a twinge of guilt over the way she was treating the lawyer. She was much more approachable than Rosen, who always kept a distance from the club while accepting retainer money.

'She's bound by attorney - client privilege, as long as I don't mention the bond hearing, I can still talk to her about my fears about Jax makin' a deal with Stahl!' Her eyes softened as she asked Lowen to see if the watch dog out front would allow them to take a 'therapeutic stroll'.

Lowen gazed intently at Gemma, who nodded slightly in response. The attorney stepped outside the room to talk to the Fed. Gemma pulled her cell phone out of her robe pocket and dialed Oswald's office number.

The Fed turned at the sound of the room door opening behind him. "That was fast," he remarked.

Lowen stifled the urge to comment on the Fed's smart mouth. "What's the chance that you can get approval for Gemma and I to take a walk beyond the double doors?"

"You mean beyond the guard station?"

'Is it just me, or is this guy about as bright as a busted light bulb?' Lowen's eyebrows arched quizzically, much like a caricature Hallowe'en cat silhouette. "Gemma's ambulatory, the doctor wants her to walk. I'll be with her so she can walk a little more than this area allows."

"I'd have to follow along," the Fed advised her.

'Duh!' Lowen struggled not to raise her eyes to the Heavens for help. "I'm aware of that. You will, of course, remain at a discreet distance."

"Why should I do that?"

"Because we'll probably talk about her case. That is not something you need to listen to."

He shrugged. "I'll have to ask Stahl's permission."

"Naturally," Lowen replied sweetly. 'I'll bet you don't fart without asking her permission first!'

She leaned against the doorway, watching the agent.

"You want me to ask about this now?" he asked incredulously.

"No sometime next week!" Lowen snapped. "Of course I'd like for you to ask now!"

"You don't have to be so mean about it!" he whined, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

Gemma was dealing with Oswald's secretary. The last time Gemma had contact with the secretary had been nearly as frustrating as Lowen's encounter with the agent. Gemma had been persistent and eventually learned that Oswald was watching his daughter's choir practice.

Gemma refused to allow the secretary to take a message that might take forever for Oswald to receive. She was acting on orders from Clay, though she couldn't tell the secretary that.

"I don't care what you have to do to find him, it's important that I speak with him! I'll hold."

"It might be awhile, Mrs. Morrow," the secretary replied. "I'll be happy to take your phone number and have Mr. Oswald call you back at his earliest opportunity."

'Yeah, more like you'll toss the message in the circular file!' Gemma thought. "Like I said, I'll hold however long it takes."

Gemma's ears were assaulted with an instrumental version of 'Good Bye Ruby Tuesday' that made her hair hurt. It was orchestral and the tempo was funereal. "That shit'll put anyone to sleep!" she mumbled.

"I'll take that under consideration," Elliot Oswald chuckled. "You're not the first person to complain about it."

Gemma winced at being caught thinking aloud. "Sorry, Elliot. I didn't mean –"

He smoothly interjected, "It's not something I haven't thought myself, Gemma. Just something that hasn't been very high on my list of priorities. I've been meaning to come by to see you, just been busy getting an overseas order ready to ship."

"That's OK, Elliot. If you could see your way clear this afternoon, I'd really appreciate a visit. You have to go through a pat down from the watchdog out front, though."

Elliott laughed softly. "Guess that means I'll have to leave the file in the car. Would a couple of hours work all right?"

Gemma made some rapid calculations. "That would be great, Elliott. It'll be good to talk to you again before they haul my ass to jail."

Elliott winced at the mention of the upcoming incarceration. He hadn't believed Gemma had killed two people in cold blood. He knew she had a temper, and was capable of lashing out, but she wasn't the type to kill. 'She's not as brutal as Clay. Skateboards are more her style!'

"Elliot? Have you changed your mind about being seen coming to visit me?" Gemma asked softly. She had an idea about what was running through his mind. She couldn't blame him for feeling that way.

"No, Gemma. I'll see you later," he assured her before ending the call.

Her cell phone buzzed before she could return it to her pocket. "Yeah, hello?"

"It's me, baby. The meet went fine. No more trouble between us and the Mayans. Did you get through to Oswald?" Clay's voice rumbled through the little speaker.

"Sure did," Gemma gave him the details of her conversation with Oswald. "Lowen's talking to the agent now about taking me for a therapeutic walk."

"Good. I'm sending Tig and Kozik over to take care of your neighbor. Having one less cop around will make it easier for 'em. Do ya think she'll be able to take ya outta the jail ward?"

"I dunno, baby," Gemma sighed, glancing out the small window in the door. "It looks like the agent is giving her some guff at the moment. He's on the phone, probably to Stahl about clearing my walk."

"If I know anything about Lowen, she'll get what she wants. She's got a pretty decent set of balls for a gal."

Gemma grinned at the mental image her husband's words produced. "You're _so _bad. I'll see you soon, baby."

Gemma slipped the cell phone in her pocket as Lowen reentered the room. "I swear, those Feds are enough to try the patience of God!"

"Did they turn you down?"

"It took a little doing, and some terse talk to Stahl, but we're getting your outing. I threatened to sic Dr. Gallagher on her for not allowing you the 'light exercise' he prescribed. She backed down in a hurry."

Lowen held the door open for Gemma, nodding her hear in the direction of the waiting agent. "He has to come with us, but he's staying a discreet distance from us. Thought we'd wander down the outer hallway. It has a nice lounge there. We can sit and talk about things."

"Lead on," Gemma replied, flashing a triumphant grin at the agent, who frowned as she walked past him.

Gemma and Lowen walked on down to the double doors, which swooshed open at their approach. The security guard sitting in the booth waved at Lowen, who waved and smiled back. "See you in a few," she called gaily as she and Gemma walked through the doors and on out into the hall.

Gemma felt an incredible sense of freedom to have stepped past the locked double doors. There was no doubt she was still in custody. The agent followed just a few feet behind them, scowling at their backs.

"Any chance he can hear us?" Gemma whispered.

"Not if we keep our voices down," Lowen assured her. "I told him he couldn't get any closer than five feet to us because we'd be discussing your case. Which we will, among other things."

Gemma felt her admiration for the lady lawyer increase by leaps and bounds. 'She's willin' to dive right in to help us, unlike her partner. She seems to like us, doesn't keep us at arms' length, either. Definitely knows how to get things done.'

"So what's going on, Gemma?" Lowen asked as they neared the lounge.

"It's kinda a long story."

Lowen gestured at the couch in a corner. It was near enough to the windows that sunlight streamed in, yet it was isolated, affording them privacy. The nearest set of chairs to the couch were a good 10 feet away. "Step into my office and we'll talk about it."

Tig wanted to hit something and he wanted to hit it hard. There was the table in the chapel, or one of the chairs, but that wasn't enough to satisfy his anger. The thought of beating Kozik's face to a pulp was tempting, but he couldn't indulge in that idea, as Kozik was participating in the Pozo hit.

'Dammit! Clay knows I prefer pickin' my own team for this kind of thing. It calls for men I can trust, and Kozik ain't one of 'em!" He fumed a few more minutes over his predicament before accepting the inevitable.

He stalked out the chapel to find Opie, Kozik, and Chuckie waiting for him. Chuckie looked quite pleased to be asked to help the club again.

"You a'right with this, Chuckie?" Tig growled.

"I accept that," the former accountant grinned reassuringly. "It'll be fun!"

Jax stepped up to the quartet. "Listen, guys, I need the van. Gotta go pick up Tara to take the HIV drugs to sell."

"Can't she bitch ride with ya?" Tig grunted. "It's not like we haven't used the bikes to take drugs for sale before!"

Jax shook his head. "Sorry, man. Bikes are too loud, draw too much attention to us. The van's quiet. That's what we need to make this happen."

"Chuckie can bitch ride with me," Opie rumbled.

"I accept that!"

"Whatever!" Tig snarled. He turned and stormed out of the clubhouse to his Dyna. He didn't look behind him to see if the rest of the crew was following.

He glared behind his sunglasses as Jax sauntered to the van. 'Prolly gonna use the van for somethin' else besides ferryin' the doc and the drugs! Least been honest about it!'

Kozik strode to his bike and mounted it, prepared to head out as soon as Tig gave the signal. Opie had found a spare helmet for Chuckie, who adjusted it on his head as he trotted after the wooly looking biker. Opie mounted his Harley and held it steady for Chuckie.

"Sorry that I have to hold on to you like a girl," Chuckie stated apologetically.

"No problem, man," Opie grunted. "It's not like you can get a good grip on the saddle back like other men. The important thing is to keep you safe and on the bike."

"I accept that," Chuckie replied, slipping his arms around Opie's waist.

Once his team was ready, Tig started his bike and pulled from the parking lot, gunning the engine to reflect his continued displeasure. Opie followed right behind, with Kozik bringing up the rear.

They parked the bikes in the service parking area. It was deserted, as the employees were already inside working at their jobs. The access door was locked, but Tig was able to make quick work of picking the lock so they could gain access into the hospital.

The employee locker room was easily found, along with the maintenance uniforms Tig and Kozik would need. Again, Tig had no problem picking the padlocks on the lockers. The first locker revealed two crisp, white nurses' uniform dresses, complete with nylons and caps.

"Somehow, I can't see Tig in a nurse's outfit!" Chuckie chortled, when one of the lockers gave up two starched white nurses' uniform dresses.

"And ya _won't_ ever see that!" Tig growled, closing the door in disgust and trying the next locker. 'Why the fuck can't they have names on 'em?'

He finally found a man's locker that gave up two slightly used maintenance uniforms and a tool box as well. Tig tosses one of the uniforms to Kozik, whose nose wrinkled at the smell of old sweat that rose from the outfit.

"Shit! This stinks!"

"Get used to it, man," Tig grunted, pulling one of the uniforms over his jeans and shirt. They'd left their cuts on their bikes in case they needed to make a quick retreat and wouldn't have time to stop at the locker room to retrieve them.

Tig found a cap hanging from a hook and pushed it over his head, bringing the brim down low over his eyes. It didn't bother him that the hat was greasy from long use and lack of cleaning. It would hide his features from the camera, and that was all that mattered.

"Where's _my _cap?" Kozik asked, peeking into the locker.

"It's not like ya need one. No one knows ya well enough to ID ya and you'll be carryin' the ladder anyway!" Tig retorted.

"I'll stand out more if I'm not wearin' a cap, too!" Kozik argued, reaching past Tig to grab the other hat from the locker. "Doesn't matter that I'll be carryin' the ladder. We need to be look as similar as possible."

Tig slammed the locker door closed and replaced the padlock without securing it in place. The casual observer would believe the locker was secured unless they touched the padlock, which he doubted would happen.

Opie and Chuckie had already departed for the jail ward floor while the two were engaged in finding and dressing in their costumes. As they headed towards the service elevators, Kozik found a ladder propped against the wall, as if waiting for them.

"This has to be a good sign!" Kozik joked as he hefted the ladder onto one shoulder.

"We'll see," Tig muttered, jabbing his finger on the 'up' button.

.

Cat continued breathing deeply as she worked her way through the _tai chi _exercises. The action helped calm her enough and dispense all the nervous energy that June's admission had generated.

"This is one Hell of a time not to have a smoke on me!" she observed wryly as she reached for her cup of coffee. Her hands were shaking from fatigue causing the cup to shake as well. She managed to bring the cup to her lips without spilling and took a calming sip of the beverage, then returned it to the table.

"Y'all don't need a smoke, chick. I'm sorry y'all got upset," June replied, breathing a sigh of relief that the storm had passed with little damage.

"It's all right. Y'all _did_ try to spare me the hurt," Cat admitted wryly. "But I still don't get why y'all fear Alex is gonna hurt me like the other two asshats did."

"Because I felt a keen sense of _déjà vu_ when you admitted Alex belonged to an outlaw bike club. Plus all the same conditions were in place like the last time Brownie found y'all in Terre Haute and raised havoc on your life."

Cat sighed tiredly. "It's not that way at all."

"I thought differently. You'd gone through a major upheaval in your life in losin' Bill. Y'all relocated across the country, set up a new line of work, and had no one else to turn to but the cats."

"Same circumstances, but not the same end result," Cat stated. "I'll grant y'all that Alex has a criminal record in his past, and he has done some things I'm not very proud of. But I can assure y'all he's nothin' like Cory!"

"I see an awful lot of similarities," June insisted.

"The only thing those two have in common are that they're bikers," Cat retorted. "Brownie was a lone wolf, a ruthless opportunist who only looked out for himself and didn't give a shit whom he hurt to get what he wanted. Besides, I doubt any respectable MC would put up with him."

"But, Cat! How can _you _live with yourself knowin' what y'all know about Alex? Doesn't it nag at your conscience?" June protested.

"That's why the coffeehouse does so much for the kids on Saturday nights."

"I thought it was just another way to make money!"

"That too, but it's also to give somethin' back to the community to make up for some of the more nefarious things the Sons do. The club always comes out in support of the events. It helps remind the town they're not all criminals all the time."

"I don't see why you feel the need to make amends for 'em! If y'all weren't involved with one of 'em, you wouldn't be in the position of havin' to make amends!"

"There's a reason why small local businesses like mine flourish here," Cat explained. "The Sons keep the big corporate conglomerates from springin' up all over creation. If not for them, _Latte Da, Charmin' Pawse, _Floyd's place – all the little mom and pop operations in town would struggle."

June's eyes widened at the news. "So _that's _why I didn't see any golden arches or the double tailed mermaid!"

Cat nodded. "The movie, open – mike, and karaoke nights bring the entire community together in a relaxed atmosphere. There's no alcohol, but everyone has fun."

"So the club, and your man, has a softer side. I'm still concerned for y'all chick. I just can't see how you can be happy with Alex after bein' with Bill for so long. The two are complete opposites!"

"Not exactly, kittenface," Cat replied. "Y'all need to realize I didn't go into this with my eyes wide shut. I knew from the very first day Alex crossed the threshold of the coffeehouse that he was in an outlaw motorcycle club and what's he's capable of doin'."

"Then why in Hell are y'all married to him?" June cried.

"Because of that softer side to him. I see what the public doesn't see because they don't look for it. Y'all _should_ see what exists between us."

"Maybe y'all should explain it to me." June continued knitting furiously, her brows furrowed in consternation. She wanted to be happy for her friend, but she was still fearful for her. As much as she personally liked Alex, it wasn't enough to quell her fear.

"There was somethin' about Alex that pulled at me from our first meetin', kittenface. As time passed, I came to realize that other than the club, Alex didn't have many people who really cared about him as a person."

"He had the dog for awhile," June pointed out.

"I said '_people_'! Sure, animals give one lots of unconditional love. They don't care what y'all look like, or how much money y'all have, they just love you. Missy died eight years ago, and he's had little happiness in his life since. Women had hurt him. I know what it's like to be used."

"Damn right y'all do!"

"That's why I want him to have a place where he feels wanted for who - not what - he is. A place where he feels welcome, can leave the Sergeant at Arms outside, and just be Alex. Why do y'all think I encouraged you two to get to know one another?"

"That helped," June admitted, her needles flying through the yarn as she knitted the rows. "Don't be mad at me for worryin', chick. From where I was standin', it looked like y'all were openin' yourself up to be bled dry physically, emotionally, and financially all over again."

"As evil and callous as Cory was, I wasn't a completely innocent lamb bein' led to slaughter, kittenface!" Cat protested. "I _allowed _him to get away with it. Everybody we knew in Vincennes tried to warn me about him, and when he later caught up with me in Terre Haute. I refused to believe any of you."

"When it came to Brownie, y'all had quite a bad case of tunnel vision. I never understood why you trusted him for so long." June mused.

"I couldn't have told y'all at the time," Cat admitted. "Sometimes I can't understand it myself. The more people who tried to warn me away from him, the more I wanted to prove he had one person on his side."

"Aren't y'all kinda doin' the same thing with Alex?" June pointed out, waving one of her knitting needles in emphasis.

Cat stirred and sat forward in her chair, turning a bit so she could look directly at her friend. "No."

"I've noticed that you refer to him in private as 'Alex', but in public y'all call him 'Tig'. What's with that? Split personalities?"

"Not hardly," Cat replied. "Tig is the stone cold SAMCRO Sergeant at Arms. That's the image he presents to the world. That's why I refer to him as such in public."

June frowned in consternation. "Is Alex supposed to be his alter ego?"

"The secret good twin!" Cat joked. "Alex is very caring and loyal, despite that endearingly annoyin' possessive Neanderthal attitude of his. He's got a warped sense of humor I find pretty refreshin'. What I really like is not havin' to try to buy his love."

"_Try?_ Honey, you did more than try to buy Brownie's love!" June snorted, "That's one of the big differences that hit me right away and allowed me to keep an open mind about him."

"Apparently, since you keep referrin' to it in the past tense, you've had a change of heart. What brought it about?" Cat inquired quietly.

"Seein' the two of y'all together. Brownie could barely bring himself to give you an occasional hug, while Alex can't keep his hands off you!"

Cat barked a laugh. "That doesn't necessarily mean anythin', kittenface! Alex is just a typical male animal."

"True, dat," June agreed. "Sex maniac is more like it."

"He resembles that remark!"

"Whenever he and I talked on the phone, I could tell by his tone of voice how much you mean to him. Brownie never had that note in his voice, like y'all are his anchor or somethin'."

Cat remained silent, wanting to absorb everything that June was telling her. It was one thing to believe something existed; having another person witness it made it more real to her.

"I've watched y'all since he's been back," June added. "The way he looks at you. He stands a little straighter - a little prouder - when you're near him. He treats y'all like someone special to him. When he looks at y'all, he doesn't have dollar signs in his eyes."

"Just as long as y'all don't tell me that possessive streak of his is allurin'!"

"A little," June grinned. "I know it's annoyin' to someone who's used to goin' her own way. I imagine the two of you butt heads as often as you and Bill did. More importantly, I've not heard him ask y'all one time for any money."

"That's true, y'all haven't," Cat couldn't help feeling a trifle guilty for keeping June in the dark about the financial help she gave the club just a few days earlier. As much as she wanted to reassure her friend, she had no intention of betraying the club's or Alex's trust.

"And you really do seem happy with him," June continued, unaware that her friend was actively editing her side of the conversation. "Other than this mornin', I've not seen y'all get tense and upset like those others guys made you. I hope y'all didn't give Alex too much difficulty over that thoughtless remark he made."

"He got an earful," Cat admitted wryly, inwardly relieved the conversation had steered away from dangerous waters. "He forgot the cardinal rule of threesomes; never involve people y'all care about."

"Amen!"

"Though he insists that what happened with us wasn't a true threesome. At least not in his definition of the word," Cat smirked.

"Figures he'd see it that way! I knew y'all would've shared that with him."

Cat's eyebrow climbed up her forehead. "How'd y'all figure that?"

"Because I noticed y'all get tense whenever I'm in close proximity to him."

Cat winced. "Is it _that _obvious?"

"It is to me. Alex is a typical male. He'd have to be hit between the eyes with a two by four to see it," June assured her.

"Dammit! I was tryin' not to let y'all see that!"

"Helen Keller would've noticed it, chick. Take this mornin', when I sat on the bed with you two. Y'all had me move to the chair faster than greased lightin'."

Cat opened her mouth to protest, but June continued before she could utter a word. "Hey, chick! It's perfectly understandable given the circumstances. Y'all were just as protective about Bill for awhile."

"At least I'm consistent!" Cat replied gloomily. "I'm really sorry, kittenface."

"No worries, chick. Forgivin' is easy. Forgettin' is a whole 'nother story. Didn't I kinda treat y'all the same way whenever you and my old man got too close for my comfort?"

"Yeah," Cat admitted reluctantly.

"Then don't worry about it. So the bottom line is that y'all made the right decision to come here."

"Considerin' it was a blind choice from throwin' a dart at a map, I'd say it worked out OK. I'm not sure it would work for everyone."

June cursed under her breath when she found she'd dropped a stitch earlier. She unraveled everything to the point where the stitch had gone awry, and started knitting furiously. A few more clicks of the needles sounded before she stated, "I had a meeting today with Miss Margaret."

"'Me - owtch!' said Alexander Kitten'." Cat quoted a favorite childhood book. "That probably wasn't fun!"

"Actually, it went quite well. She had the HR Manager with her. Apparently, they're so impressed with me that they want me to join the staff."

Cat remained silent for a moment. "You have reservations."

"You catch on fast! Charmin's not exactly lived up to its' name." June put down her knitting to drink some of her coffee.

"Y'all got here on the tail end of the craziness, kittenface. It's not always doin' an impersonation of Eerie, Indiana."

June grimaced at the reference to the offbeat television show based on their home state that had lasted one season. "That's my point. Y'all came here to get away from drama, _not_ to trade one source for another!"

Cat slid forward in her chair and reached for her coffee. "Why don't y'all come out and say that you're not sure comin' to Charmin' would be a good move for y'all?" she stated after taking a long, steadying drink of her own coffee.

"OK, I don't think it's the right move for me," June replied.

"Feels good to get it off your chest, doesn't it?"

June sighed. "Yeah. I just didn't want to hurt your feelin's. It's not that I don't miss y'all –"

"It's just that y'all don't know if this is the right fit for _you,_" Cat stated.

Lowen struggled to contain her shock and surprise over Gemma's revelation. 'Jax made a deal with Stahl? The guys are _not _going to be happy with that if they ever find out!'

The lawyer was well practiced at keeping her face straight from many poker games where she'd successfully played a bluff. That talent came in very handy at the moment with the agent watching their every move.

"And that's why you changed your story," Lowen remarked.

"Jax gave me a prepared statement to memorize and barf back out to the US Attorney. Stahl's up to something and that other agent, Tyler, is gettin' set up to take a pretty bad fall," Gemma replied.

"I take it Tyler was never in the house with you and Stahl."

"Just me, Stahl, and the two bodies. I know she shot Eddie before Polly and I got into the house. There was a lot of blood pooled under the kid when I got there."

Lowen shook her head slightly. This was a major complication to an already complicated situation. "Stahl sells out her partner for what reason? That's what I don't understand."

"I don't either. It scares me. Stahl can't be trusted, but my boy seems to think he can handle her."

Lowen made on an the spot decision. "I think I know what Jax is getting out of this; it makes sense to me."

"What?" Gemma prompted when Lowen remained silent for a few minutes.

"I got a call from the court clerk's office. Seems the guys' bond hearing has been pushed back a couple of weeks."

Gemma's heart leaped with joy at the news. 'Thank God! Now they won't be fugitives! If Elliot co-operates, they'll be able to get to Belfast, retrieve Abel, and get back in plenty of time for the hearing!'

Lowen watched Gemma's reaction with a practiced eye. She knew her client was holding out on her. She was also well aware there would be no use in trying to get more out of Gemma than she'd already shared. Some things were better left unspoken.

"The next few hours should prove interesting. Once the US Attorney gets the reports from the Galt incident, the shit will hit the fan on either Stahl or Tyler."

Gemma pursed her lips together, then shrugged and murmured. "My money's on Tyler gettin' the shitty end of the stick."

"I'm afraid you're right."

A shrill alarm blasted in the hallway, startling the women and the agent. Adding to the din was an announcement over the hospital intercom. "This is a false alarm! Do not panic! There is no danger! Everyone remain where you are! This is a false alarm!"

Lowen and Gemma exchanged glances as the disguised Tig and Kozik marched past the lounge. Neither man glanced into the lounge as they passed. They stared straight ahead towards the jail ward.

"Wonder what all that's about?" Lowen inquired.

Gemma shrugged. She felt her cell phone vibrate in her robe pocket. The pre - arranged signal from Opie that the men had successfully gained access to Pozo's room. "Probably some kids with too much time and nothin' else to do but pull pranks."

Lowen smothered a smile behind her hand. '"That must be it. Guess we'll just wait here until the uproar dies down."

"That's fine with me," Gemma replied, leaning back in the chair to gaze out the window. The sun was shining outside and the sky was a bright blue with the occasional fluffy white cloud floating in it. Her room was windowless and she'd missed having something other than the four walls and television set to look at.

Lowen and Gemma were content to sit in silence while the alarm continued its shrill cry. The agent had returned to his seat when the false alarm was announced. He would remain with the two women until they returned to Gemma's room.

Ernest Darby gazed out the window of the patient exam room in the Kellerman Clinic. He'd gone there to have his burns treated and checked. He'd been waiting awhile and growing impatient when he heard a female voice mention Jax Teller. He'd crept painfully to the door and peeked out just in time to see the doctor he was waiting on sneak out the back exit with Jax Teller and a dark - haired woman.

Intrigued by their behavior, he limped to the window and peered out, looking from one side of the lot behind the clinic to the other. Then he spied the trio standing behind the back of the Teller - Morrow van. The van doors were open, and the doctor was holding a box of medicines.

A wide smile played across his face, half of which was a patchwork of healing burns. 'Jax needs to learn to be a little more discreet about peddlin' black market drugs. You don't stand where anyone can happen to see you. But it's good he's such a virgin at it. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd never have believed SAMCRO was into sellin' drugs, prolly Oxy or some other pain killer.'

He slipped away from the window, wondering what he could do with the news. He knew better than to approach CPD; most of the force was in SAMCRO's pay. He knew that San Joaquin SD wouldn't believe him because of his history.

'I'll bet Jacob Hale would love that information. He's made no secret of his plans to run for mayor. He'll know what to do with this!"

Darby didn't mention what he'd witnessed to his doctor when the physician finally entered the exam room. The doctor checked Darby's burns, wrote another prescription for salve and pain killers, and sent the former Nords leader on his way.

Darby glanced at the written prescription, which was for a potent painkiller. 'If SAMCRO is sellin' drugs, why wouldn't the doc just give me some of that Oxy instead of writin' a script for Vicodin?'

He limped slowly to his SUV and climbed painfully into it. He knew where he'd likely find Jacob Hale at that time of day. Every day in the late afternoon, Jacob Hale would go to the family restaurant on the outskirts of town for pie and coffee.

Darby's mind drifted back over the last few weeks since the fire that had changed his life. He had been pleased the LOAN was willing to assist him with muscle, money, and supplies for the Nords meth business. LOAN, in the form of AJ Westin, had promised to eliminate SAMCRO to enable the Nords to sell freely in Charming, increasing the profit margin.

He'd learned too late that LOAN wasn't the fairy godfather he'd initially thought they would be. Westin had shown the origination's true colors the night they torched the Caracara studios. Westin had knocked him unconscious and left him to die in the fire. Someone had pulled him out of the raging inferno to safety before disappearing into the night. That someone had stopped to make a call so that Darby had been found by the paramedics and taken to the hospital for treatment.

The burns Darby sustained were severe. He felt constant pain from both the burns and the various skin grafts that had been made to repair the worst of the damage to his face. The doctors had explained to him why they'd not been able to repair all the burns.

"That's a'right, doc," he'd assured the physician. "At least ya fixed it so people won't throw up when they look at me!" 'At least people can look at me without throwin' up!'

What SAMCRO had started by destroying every one of his meth labs, AJ Westin had finished by attempting to murder him. The Nords quietly disbanded like fog in the sun. Some of the members were absorbed in other gangs, others quietly retired.

'Maybe it's better to be outta that game. I'll never be a pillar of society, but things are a lot quieter. No one out to kill me or destroy my labs. No havin' to sweat and wear respirators while cookin' that shit. All I hafta do now is set back and collect that disability check and live the American Dream!' A grim smile played across his mouth, making him wince as the skin stretched on the burned side of his face.

He limped on into the restaurant, pausing just past the door to look for the property realtor. He found Jacob Hale sitting all alone in a booth near one of the plate glass windows. A large slice of pie and a cup of coffee lay on the table. He was staring off into space, a sad look to his face.

Darby limped across the restaurant, ignoring the curious stares of the customers sitting near his path. He'd grown used to stares and whispered comments about his appearance, and that was before he'd been burned! He kept his gaze directed on Hale as he approached, then lowered himself painfully into the booth across from the realtor.

Hale's sad expression turned to one of annoyance. He didn't want to be seen talking to Darby in public. He'd almost rather be seen with Clay Morrow! His annoyance turned into boredom as the former drug dealer explained why he'd sought Hale out, announcing that he'd seen SAMCRO selling black market medicines.

Hale simply stared at Darby, his body language eloquently stating what he didn't put into words. Darby shrugged and struggled out of the booth, limping painfully from Hale's presence. 'I gave him a golden opportunity to hit SAMCRO where it would hurt. If he'd rather eat pie, that's fine with me!'

Hale watched Darby's departure out of the corner of his eye. He slid the plate of pie away from him and stared at the wall in front of him, his mind racing from the news the former Nords leader had delivered. He waited until Darby had left the restaurant to pull out his cell phone to make a call.

"San Joaquin Sheriff's Department. How may I direct your call?"

"Eli Roosevelt, please," he replied in his best politician's manner.

"One moment."

Hale picked up his coffee and took a sip, grimacing to find it had gone cold. He set the coffee cup down, carefully preventing himself from making eye contact with the waitress. He could get a warm up once his call was finished.

"This is Roosevelt."

"Jacob Hale, Eli. I just came across some information your gang task force might find of interest."

There was a slight pause on the other end, then Roosevelt's replied, "I'm listening."

"I received a tip from a 'concerned citizen' who witnessed a member of SAMCRO sell a cache of drugs to the Kellerman Clinic earlier today. It's possible the club has gotten into the black market prescription business."

"What makes you say that?"

Hale bit the inside of his lip to curb his annoyance. He was used to having people do his bidding without question. 'Roosevelt isn't in Charming, he won't allow himself to be bought and will insist on doing this by the book,' he sternly reminded himself.

Aloud, continuing to use his politician's voice, Hale answered, "The 'concerned citizen saw Jax Teller hand over a large number of white plastic bottles wrapped in plastic to a doctor at the Kellerman Clinic."

Another silence met Hale's statement. "I take it this 'concerned citizen' is a patient at the clinic?"

"Yes," Hale replied, a broad smile of satisfaction brightening his face. "Saw the entire transaction from the window of the exam room."

"Does this witness have a name?" Roosevelt inquired.

"The 'concerned citizen' might be persauded to come forward, provided there is need," Hale explained smoothly. "The witness thinks the bottles contained Oxycontin."

Hale waited for Roosevelt to take the bait he was dangling. He knew the task force leader wouldn't pass up an opportunity to take down a major gang like SAMCRO. Telling the Lieutenant that the MC was dealing black market Oxy was too tempting for a police officer of Roosevelt's caliber to ignore.

"The only thing that bothers me, Mr. Hale, is why would SAMCRO sell black market Oxy to the Kellerman Clinic? They'd get more for it on the street." Roosevelt observed quietly. Something about Hale's claim didn't quite add up.

"It's not like SAMCRO is experienced with this kind of thing. Jax Teller made the exchange right out in the open!" Hale scoffed.

Roosevelt did some fast thinking. Eliminating a major gang like SAMCRO and shutting down a black market Oxy operation before it got started would look good in his service jacket as well as make the county taxpayers happy.

"I'll talk to a judge, see if I can get a search warrant," Roosevelt announced at last. "Technically, Charming isn't in my jurisdiction. I'll have to let CPD in on the raid."

"You do what you have to do," Hale replied, his eyes alight with triumph. "I'll wager -there's nothing in the rules that states how much advance warning you have to give CPD."

In spite of himself, Roosevelt smiled grimly. He didn't like Jacob Hale at all. He considered the surviving Hale brother to be the typical slimey politician. He grudgingly admitted to himself that Hale had a valid point.

"In the meantime, I'm getting closer to that other matter we discussed. CPD has got to go," Hale continued. "There are too many officers feeding at SAMCRO's tit. Replacing CPD with the sherriff's department is the best thing that can happen to the town at the moment."

"How soon will that happen?" Roosevelt inquired. He'd discussed the matter with his commanding officer, who had promised that if CPD were disbanded, he would be placed in charge of the Charming district.

"A few more days. You'll be the first to know, after the city council." Hale ended the call and slid his cell phone into his inner jacket pocket. He noticed his waitress approaching with the coffeepot and signaled her for a refill.

He smiled up at her, winking at the waitress in a harmless flirtation. She laughed and waltzed away to the next occupied table.

Hale pulled his pie plate back in front of him. Before picking up his fork, he took an appreciative sip of his now hot coffee. His appetite for revenge was temporarily sated by the prospect of the upcoming raid on SAMCRO.

'I wish I could be a fly on the wall when the club is brought into jail on these charges! That will automatically revoke their bond, all nice and legal!'

Hale forked a large helping of pie and brought it to his mouth. He chewed the morsel, relishing the sweetness of the fruit and flakiness of the crust as much as he would enjoy seeing SAMCRO behind bars where they belonged.

.

Tig sat in his chair, glaring angrily at Kozik. His elbow rested on the table and he held his fist up in the air as if protesting Kozik's report on the 'Pozo Procedure'. As far as Tig was concerned, the assignment hadn't been completely successful; they'd had to leave a man behind. Opie was alone when he entered the locker room while Tig and Kozik were removing their borrowed coveralls.

"Where's Chuckie?" Tig growled.

"Sanwa deputy and the rent a cop captured him. Nothin' I could do to help him," Opie rumbled. "They're gonna keep him under a 72 hour hold on the psych ward."

"What the fuck are they holdin' him for?"

Opie shrugged. "The Sanwa deputy had a hard on for Chuckie. Second time Chuckie's acted out and had to be chased down. I overheard him making arrangements with the psych ward people. Guess he thinks Chuckie could be a danger to himself or others."

"Shit!" Tig snarled, slamming the locker door. He shoved it so hard it bounced back open, nearly hitting Kozik in the nose. 'Why couldn't it have been _you_ gettin' sent to the psych ward instead of Chuckie? Would've served ya right, fucktard!'

Tig stormed out of the locker room and out into the parking lot towards the secluded area where they'd left the bikes parked. He grit his teeth, then winced at the twinge of pain from his jaw where Pozo had struck him.

It was supposed to be a fast and easy hit. Cover the camera, slip inside Pozo's room, inject the cyanide into his IV line, and get out. Chuckie had done his part to cause the diversion that sent the hospital security guard and the Sanwa deputy after him, leaving the jail ward unguarded.

Tig and Kozik had passed the lounge where the Fed sat near Gemma and Attorney Lowen, who were talking in a corner. They hadn't moved after the intercom announced the false alarm and neither woman seemed to recognize Tig as he walked past them.

He cast a triumphant look over his shoulder at Kozik. The Tacoma SAA rolled his eyes but otherwise didn't respond to the obvious taunt.

They turned the corner into the hallway leading to the jail ward. Opie rose from his chair and slapped the metal plate that automatically opened the door for the handicapped. Then he returned to his seat to keep watch.

Tig slipped through the door, careful to keep his back to the camera while Kozik followed on his heels. He shifted the ladder from his shoulder to set one end on the floor. To the camera, it looked as if he were setting it up to do some work. When he turned to face the camera, the ladder blocked his face from the lens.

Tig kept his back to the camera the entire room, gazing out the side of one eye at Opie, who nodded to indicate the camera was only recording the ladder and nothing else.

Tig opened the door to Pozo's room and slipped inside. Pozo was lying flat on his back, only the light over the bed gave any illumination to the room. The only monitor set up was the monitor for the IV drip.

"Must be a heavy sleeper, or he's sedated. That alarm's loud enough to wake the dead!" Kozik remarked.

"Keep your damn voice down! Your brayin' is enough to wake anyone!" Tig hissed, moving quickly and silently to the counter. He set his toolbox on top and opened it, removing the inner carry tray to reveal a folded shop towel.

He expected Kozik to take up his assigned position on the other side of Pozo's bed. It was his job to watch the Calavarez man while Tig was preparing the syringe. Kozik had been charged with keeping Pozo from trying to fight them off should he awaken before Tig got the cyanide injected into the IV line.

Instead, Kozik had taken up watch at the small window in the door, keeping his back turned to Pozo and Tig. 'The asshat's asleep. Tig doesn't need me there. I can do more by keepin' watch for the guard to come back.'

Pozo was 'playing possum'. He'd heard the alarm go off and a rush of adrenaline had shot through his body. 'If its' a real fire, they have to unchain me from the bed. I can escape!'

When he saw his guard pass by the window, yelling something about knowing 'that guy'. Then he heard the intercom announce the false alarm and he knew he was in danger. 'Alvarez knows I turned rat! Someone's gonna try to take me out!'

The Calavarez willed himself to remain calm. He kept his eyes closed and concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and steady, as if in a deep sleep. Within seconds, he heard the door to his room open, and heard two male voices. He didn't recognize them, but knew they had to be members of SAMCRO.

Tig respectfully lifted the folded towel from the interior of the toolbox and lifted one edge of the dark material aside to reveal a large plastic syringe. A long, thin needle extended from the plastic. The only thing that protected Tig's hands from coming in contact with the point and the deadly liquid inside was a thin plastic tip.

He separated the tip from the needle, holding the syringe carefully by its top as he turned to Pozo's reclining form. He frowned to find Kozik wasn't in position. 'Shit! Figures he'd be doin' somethin' other than what he's 'sposed to do! Don't need him anyway.'

Tig sidled quietly next to Pozo's bed and the IV line attached to the Calavrez' arm. He held the syringe ready while placing his free hand on the part of the line that allowed the nurses to inject medicines directly into the IV.

Pozo's eyes were open a mere fraction, feigning REM sleep. He watched as Tig positioned the needle over the IV line. He saw that the other man wasn't paying attention. Pozo willed himself not to tense his muscles until the last possible second, then he backhanded Tig in the side of his face with his free hand, which was the one the IV was in. The blow sent Tig crashing to the floor.

The syringe fell out of Tig's hand as he uttered a howl of rage and pain. The noise alerted Kozik to trouble. He spun around to find Tig kneeling on the floor while Pozo struggled to get up after him.

"Shit!" Kozik leapt to Pozo's bedside, grabbing the Calavarez by the shoulders and forcing him to lay back against the bed. He grunted at Tig to get the syringe.

Tig barked he couldn't find the syringe; it had to have slid under something on the linoleum floor. He crouched on hands and knees to look under the bed and the table next to it as precious seconds ticked away.

Kozik continued to wrestle with an almost insanely powerful Pozo. The injured rider fought off Kozik's attempts to restrain him. Pozo knew he was fighting for his life. The knowledge seemed to give him added strength.

As Tig struggled to his feet, gingerly holding the cyanide laden syringe in his hands, Kozik grabbed Pozo's head and smashed it against the bed rail. The blow stunned Pozo enough that his arms fell to his sides. His vision began to dim, but he tried desperately to remain conscious.

Tig snarled a defiant inquiry at Kozik for hitting their quarry. He knew the bed rail would leave a tell tale mark on the soon to be dead Calavarez rider. His hands shook as he inserted the needle into the IV line and depressed the plunger.

The cyanide flowed straight into the IV line and on into Pozo's vein. Tig sighed with relief that the deed was done and slipped back to the tool box. He placed the cap back on the needle before wrapping it in the shop towel and putting the carrier tray back inside the toolbox. He closed and secured the lid and lifted the toolbox from the counter.

Kozik had busied himself with straightening Pozo's body and bedcovers, making it look as if the patient was sleeping. By the time anyone noticed his heart had stopped, he and Tig would be long gone. He glanced around the room, making sure nothing else had been disturbed, and found his hat lying on the floor next to him. He scooped it up and placed it on his head.

"Let's go!" Tig growled. They still needed to get away from the room before the deputy and security guard returned. Just as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, Opie sent a signal to Tig's phone. He glanced out the corner of his eye to see the Sanwa deputy and the security guard leading Chuckie back to the guard station.

Opie moved to stand in front of the double doors to block the guards view. His move might not have been necessary, as both officers were more intent on Chuckie than on anything going on in the hall beyond the locked double doors. Opie engaged the two guards in conversation to allow Tig and Kozik to make their escape.

Tig stormed down the hall and around the corner, leaving Kozik to struggle with the ladder and catch up with his long strides. He was _not_ pleased with what had gone down back in Pozo's room. His ramrod straight back and ground eating strides were testament to his frustration.

Kozik wheezed and panted in his effort to keep pace with Tig. The ladder was cumbersome in his hands, and he was off balance from carrying it on one shoulder. "Are ya sure that fire door's gonna work for us?" he cried out.

"Will ya keep your voice down?" Tig hissed, turning to glare at his adversary. He snorted with satisfaction to see that Kozik was red faced and panting from his exertions.

Tig shook his head and resumed his stride to the fire doors. The alarms were still going off and he wanted to get the fire door open before the fire alarm was shut off. The fire door loomed ahead of them at the end of the hall.

"You don't expect me to try to carry this thing down the stairs, do ya?" Kozik wheezed as Tig worked to open the door.

"Ya can't leave it here in the hall," Tig grunted snidely. 'As far as I'm concerned, ya can ram it up your ass!'

Kozik looked around, partly to keep watch in case anyone turned the corner at the wrong time. His eyes lit up when he spied a door with 'maintenance supplies' emblazoned on a placard on it.

He carried the ladder to the door and opened it. The light from the hallway spilled into the closet, giving Kozik enough light to see there was enough room to store the ladder. He propped it against the wall and closed the door, sighing with relief.

Tig succeeded in getting the fire door open. With the alarm still blaring, the fire door alarm didn't go off. "You gonna stand there congraulatin' yourself, or are ya comin'?" he snarled, holding the door open.

Kozik ran to the door and pelted down the stairs, Tig right on his heels. They ran all the way down to the basement.

The fire alarm went silent just as they reached the employee locker room. "Talk about timin'!" Kozik grinned triumphantly, spreading his arms wide as if he were embracing the chapel.

Tig couldn't endure Kozik's smug look any longer. He jumped to his feet, nearly knocking his chair into the wall behind him. He pointed to the plaque on the wall enscribed with _'Brains Before Bullets_' and loudly questioned Kozik's use of force to subdue Pozo. He insisted that the injury could cause the coroner to suspect foul play.

Kozik countered with a snide remark about the cyanide and that Tig was mad because the Calavarez managed to throw a punch. The Tacoma SAA didn't mention that he'd not been in position like he was expected.

Instead of calling attention to that fact, Tig raced forward in an attempt to throw a punch at Kozik's sneering face. His jaw was sore, but he was willing to risk further injury to wipe that smile off his opponent's face.

Chibs quickly stepped between the two would - be combatants, stopping the fight before it could start. Clay roared an order for everybody to settle down, reminding Tig that the camera had been covered the entire time, so there was no record of them ever being on the jail ward.

A flurry of activity and noise outside the chapel doors alerted the club to big trouble.. They rushed out of the chapel to find SJSD and CPD officers stormtrooping the clubhouse. The police had their guns drawn and pointed at anyone not wearing a police uniform. The officers wore bullet proof vest and yelled at the club members, prospects, hangarounds and croweaters to hit the floor.

Officer Eglee put a restraining hand on Jax's shoulder, helping to guide him to the floor. She whispered a hasty apology to Jax, explaining the raid was going down just as CPD was invited to join the festivities. There was no time to warn SAMCRO.

With Georgie Caruso's studio closed indefinitely and Caracara nothing but a burned out shell, most of the porn stars were out of work. Some of had considerable savings set aside, but others hadn't been as lucky and were starting to feel the financial pinch.

Lyla considered herself lucky to have hooked up with Opie. He'd suggested she give up her month to month tenancy at her apartment at the end of the month, as she and Piper were already spending most of their time at his house. Money wouldn't be as tight for her, but she was restless playing the rold of 'the little woman'.

One of LuAnn Delaney's early discoveries, Dondo, had opened his own studio in Lodi. Once he'd learned that Caracara's future was in doubt, he'd put out the word for the staff there to join his enterprise. A meeting had been set up for the idled Caracara employees to meet with him at his studio.

Dondo was still a handsome looking man, despite his age. He'd gone into producing and directing after a prophyllactic malfunction had brought an end to his career in front of the camera. His studio was secondly only to Caracara in turnout and sales.

"You all know me," he announced when the meeting began. "I started with LuAnn back in the day, she saw more to me than my dick."

Nervous giggles and titters broke out amongst the younger girls in the crowd. The more experienced actors and actresses quickly shushed them.

Dondo continued as if he'd not heard the hilarity. "There's more than enough work to keep all of you gainfully employed. I'm not a rough man, or mean. Give me honest work and I'll treat you fair. If you can't give me an honest day's work for your pay, then get out now."

No one took him up on the offer. Some of the crew had been moonlighting for him when LuAnn's first studio was raided by the Feds, but the actresses that didn't come to work for him had been pressured by Georgie to join his outfit. Now Dondo's studio was the only game in the San Joaquin area.

"Good!" He clapped his hands together once in emphasis. "My assistant will hand out your schedules. When she calls your name, you can collect your schedules and security badge, then go home for the rest of they day. Those of you scheduled to work tomorrow, I'll see you then!"

A smattering of grateful applause followed Dondo as he walked back to the editing rooms. The assistant stepped forward and began reading names from the list on her clipboard. A wheeled cart sat next to her, filled with manilla envelopes. As each name was called, the man or woman stepped forward and was given their envelope.

Lyla settled back to wait. The list was in alphabetical order, so she'd have awhile to wait. She smiled and waved at some of her former Caracara co - workers she was more familiar with,

and nodded cordially at those she wasn't.

She'd learned a valuable lesson from the lock down, where her pouts had put people close to Opie off getting to know her better. She'd taken Ope's council to heart, and was making more of an effort to be outgoing and personable. It seemed to be paying off. The Croweaters were more friendly to her than they'd been during the lockdown.

Ima, dressed in a short, tight black skirt, black high heels, a black tube top and a white jacket waved at her. Lyla inwardly groaned as the other actress shashayed over to her, clutching her own manilla envelope in her hand.

"Hi, Lyla! Haven't seen you since Hale's funeral!" Ima gushed. "How are the kids?"

"They're fine," Lyla replied quietly. The last person she wanted to talk to at that moment was Ima, who was spelled trouble for her with the club.

Her continued flirting with the club VP after the fight at Lin's and at Hale's funeral were proof. Opie had cautioned her to keep her distance from the blonde porn star.

"If she keeps hanging around you, it'll enable her to be in contact with the club."

"What's wrong with that?" Lyla inquired.

"Plenty. She'll make trouble for Jax and Tara, and that will make Gemma upset. Hell, Lyla, you saw how much animosity exists between Ima and Tara at the wrap party!"

She knew Opie had a point, but she didn't like being told who she could hang around with. "It's not like they're kids, Ope! Why not let them work it out for themselves?"

Opie grimaced. "Jax is like a kid in a candy store with a credit card when it comes to pussy."

Lyla thought back to the afternoon she and Tara had met up at Cat's and formed an ex officio 'old ladies support group'. None of them were very experienced with the life, even though Tara had been in a relationship with Jax in her youth. "I see what you mean. I'll try my best."

Ima didn't seem to notice Lyla's discomfort at her presence. She settled into the chair next to the other blond beauty and crossed her legs. "I'm so excited at the idea of going back to work again! Aren't you?"

"Yeah. The time off has been nice, but I don't think I'm cut out for the 'happy homemaker' routine," Lyla replied.

"Oh?"

"It's great while the kids are home. I'm busy with them, getting them ready for school, fixing lunches, cleaning up the place. Once they're at school, though, things get really boring really fast."

Ima nodded. "At least there's the soap operas. I've been able to catch up on my favorite!"

Lyla shook her head. "I can't stand any of daytime television! The soap operas are so predictable, and what passes for talk shows these days is just one long 'bleep'."

"You must've been watching 'Jerry Springer'!" Ima laughed.

"Springer, Wilco, Maury, all of them were so full of bleeps that I got a headache!"

"What about the women's talk shows?"

"I gave up on television, except for the classic movie channel. I love those old black and white movies! I'd love to play a role in something like that someday." Lyla winced, expecting her companion to make fun of her comment.

"We all have our dreams, sweetie," Ima replied, her eyes softening a bit. "Could I get a ride with you? My car's still in the shop, otherwise I wouldn't ask."

Lyla was saved from replying when Dondo's assistant called her name. She leaped to her feet and scurried to retrieve her envelope, not realizing Ima was hot on her heels until she turned around and nearly boob bumped the other girl.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you," Ima stated. "I figured you'd be wanting to leave as soon as you got your packet, and didn't want to keep you waiting."

'I didn't say I'd take you!' Lyla fumed inwardly.

"I'm sorry. It's just that I hate taking the cab; it's so expensive!"

"I understand," Lyla replied sympathetically. "Of course I'll give you a ride back to Charming. I've got to get the Caddy to pick up the kids, anyway."

Ima's eyes lighted up like a 100 watt bulb. "Great! Maybe Jax will be able to give me that ride home he didn't get around to the other night!"

Ima was referring to the night while Tara was in Oregon with Gemma and Tig. The Caracara girls had returned to the clubhouse after the debacle at Lin's restaurant. Ima had asked Jax for a ride home and he was about to leave with her when Juice had shared the picture of Cameron Hayes laying dead against a brick wall in Belfast. Ima had gotten a ride home with one of the other girls that night.

Lyla turned without a word and led the way to her Toyota. 'I've got a really bad feeling about this, but I can't turn her down without serious repercussions later. I just hope Opie understands!'

Elliot Oswald glanced around his lumber yard, content that everything was running as smoothly as a Swiss watch. A part of him wished some task might need his direct attention, but his employees had everything well in hand.

The cargo was being prepared for shipment to Manchester, England the following day. There was some heavy machinery and several stacks of pre - cut California Redwood being transported. Most of the shipment was ready to be taken to Stockton Metro Airport, and his foreman had everything in hand.

'I wish _something _needed my attention! Then I'd have a legitmate excuse to get out of visiting Gemma.' He shook his head over his dilemma. He really did like Gemma Teller Morrow, and wanted to be able to visit with her before she was hauled off to jail.

He couldn't help feeling that going to see her was similar to having the Sword of Damocles was hanging over his head. He felt certain that if Clay spotted him there, he'd be asked to give SAMCRO another favor that he couldn't politically afford. There was a distinct possibility that Gemma might try to rope him in to assist the club, but he hoped against hope that wasn't the case.

Since Murphy's Law seemed to be standing in the way of his getting out of the vist, he sighed wearily and walked to his Mercedes. As the powerful car ferried him back into Charming, he considered and abandoned several gift ideas.

'Gemma's probably got more flowers than she needs in her room, and I can't see just giving her a 'get well' card.' He was about to abandon the idea of bringing a gift to her when he drove past the local bookstore.

'Gemma likes to read, maybe I can find something there she might enjoy!' He quickly parked the car and hurried into the building.

The owner looked up from the cash register as Oswald walked inside and lifted a hand in greeting.

"How's life, JC?" Elliot walked over to shake hands with the owner.

"Same as always," the owner smiled warmly, clasping hands with Oswald. There were a few customers milling about, looking at all the different books available. "Looking for anything special today?"

"A gift for a friend laid up in the hospital," Oswald replied. "I figure flowers are probably getting a little old, and books are easy to transport."

"Ah! You're going to visit Gemma. I'd suggest paperbacks. They're not as heavy to carry as hardback books. Less chance that someone might misinterpert their presence." JC explained quietly. "I hear the Feds are going to move her to SJCCF in a couple of days."

Oswald's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I wasn't aware of that."

"Was the lead story on the news," JC indicated the radio sitting on the shelf behind him. "You just missed it."

"Damn! Thanks for telling me that, JC." Oswald shook his head and walked to the paperback section, browsing the various categories. He wasn't sure what kinds of books Gemma liked, but figured she would want to escape the unplesant atmosphere of prison with fiction.

He eventually decided to get one book from each fiction genre; historical, paranormal, and general romances, a western, a mystery, and the newest Stephen King paperback. 'That should be enough to get her through the first few days!'

He carried his purchases to the counter and waited for JC to ring them up. Oswald spied a nice looking bookmark to go with the books. He figured she'd like it since it had a picture of a cockatoo on it, to remind her of her bird. He added the bookmark to his purchases, then dug out his cell phone to call Gemma.

"Yeah, hello?"

"Hi, Gemma. It's Elliot. I'm on my way over. Do you want me to pick up anything for you?"

"A cup of coffee from Cat's place would be nice," she replied wistfully. "The stuff they serve here tastes like shit."

"Don't let the kitchen staff hear you say that!" Oswald laughed. "What do you want?" He wrote down Gemma's request on a slip of paper JC handed him and stuffed it in his pocket. "I'll see you shortly."

_Charming Pawse _wasn't far from the bookstore. In the amount of time it would take to back out of his current parking space, drive to the coffeehouse, and park again, he could walk there, get the order, and return to his car.

The weather was clear and not too warm, just the right kind of day for a brief walk. He passed several stores and waved in a friendly manner at the shop owners that waved at him. He also spoke with several pedestrians that passed him. Though he hadn't officially tossed his hat into the political ring, most townspeople knew him and he didn't want to offend any potential voters.

He stepped into the coffeehouse, giving in to a Homer Simpson style 'D'oh!' when he saw the entire wall of books. 'I forgot all about the book exchange!' Since he didn't have any to trade, however, he felt it wasn't prudent to help himself to the vast array of books standing on the shelves.

"Hi, Mr. Oswald!" Miss Anna called from the counter. "Shall I start your usual for you?"

"Sure," he added Gemma's order to it, requesting it be made scalding hot so it would stay warm longer.

Miss Anna set about to make the two hot drinks, while Oswald glanced around the customer area. The chairs were definitely inviting, the perfect place for a person to curl up with a good book, a hot beverage, and read for awhile. 'I'll have to remember to come here a little more often. I could use a peaceful place like this!'

"Have you seen your employer today?" he inquired while Miss Anna capped the first drink and started on the second. He hadn't spoken to her since they'd talked about her running for the city council. He didn't want to give her the impression that he was hovering for an answer.

"We had our weekly meeting earlier. She's home resting now," Miss Anna replied over the noise of the steamer.

"Good to hear that she's taking care of herself," Oswald mused.

"It's sometimes it takes a joint effort. She's a very stubborn woman!" Miss Anna grinned, placing one of the completed orders on the counter.

"That's true, but she gets things done," Oswald noted. "She certainly didn't let it get to her that the city council refused to let her use the park for the rally."

"Between you, me, and the cats over there," Miss Anna replied conspiratorially, "Cat just enjoys being contrary!"

"Really?"

"Sure. The city council told her 'no', thinking that would be the end of it. She rose to the challenge and found a place to have the event despite them," Miss Anna proudly reminded him.

"Hmmm. I imagine things must get tense between her and Tig, then. He doesn't strike me as the type of man who'll take disobedience."

Miss Anna's grin reminded him of the Cheshire Cat's in the book '_Alice in Wonderland_'. "Worse I've ever seen him do is beat his chest like 'Tarzan'. She just nods and does her own thing anyway."

Oswald laughed outright. It felt good just to laugh at something that struck him as humorous. There'd not been a lot to laugh about in town lately.

Miss Anna placed the other drink order on the counter, covering both with the cardboard liners that had the coffeehouse logo on them. "Do you need a drink carrier?"

He started to decline, until he remembered he had to carry the drinks and the bag of books. That would be easier if he wasn't holding a cup of hot coffee in each hands. "Yes, please."

Miss Anna placed the cups firmly in the drink carrier, putting them at a diagonal to each other so they'd be better balanced. She rang up the order and asked if he needed a receipt.

"Nope. I'm good," he replied, handing over a bill. He pointed to the kitty jar when Miss Anna started to hand him the change. "Just put it to the cause."

"Thank you, Mr. Oswald. Did you want to leave a message for Miss Cat?"

He shook his head. "No. Nothing important. I'm just glad she's on the mend."

"So are we," Miss Anna called after him as he strode to the door. "Come back soon!"

He strode back to his parked car and transferred the coffee cups from the drink carrier to the cup holders. Once he had his purchases secured, he pulled away from his parking spot and headed to the hospital.

He noticed with relief that there were no motorcycles parked in the lot when he entered the parking lot. It occurred to him that he might've been worried for no reason. 'It's possible she just wants to have a good talk, friend to friend.'

That feeling of relief lasted until he passed through the door to Gemma's room and saw the determined expression on her face. 'I've got a bad feeling about this!'

Gemma's eyes lit up at the sight of the distinctive coffee cups in the carrier. She accepted the cup from Oswald, removed the lid, and took an appreciative, deep inhale. "Ahhh! That's the ticket! Whiskey blend!"

Oswald placed the bag of books on the bed and turned back to find a chair to sit in. He smiled at Gemma's reaction to the coffee. "Cat must be making a mint from selling that particular item, especially when the charters are around!"

"One of the best roasts she's developed," Gemma agreed, taking a sip and savoring the taste. "This is _much _better! You're a lifesaver, Elliot!"

He smiled and pointed to the bag he'd set behind her. "Brought you something useful as well as ornamental. Figured flowers were getting a little repetitive."

Gemma waved one hand to indicate the floral arrangements that took up both counters. "Just a bit. One more bouqet and I could open up my own flower shop!"

She set the coffee down on the table and turned to peek inside the plastic bag. Her eyes widened in surprise as she withdrew a couple of the books he'd purchased.

"Elliot, this is too much!"

He shrugged. "I wasn't sure what you'd like, so just got a variety. I thought it would -" He realized he was about to step into a verbal mine field and abruptly stopped speaking.

Gemma's eyes clouded for a moment, then brightened again. "These will certainly help me pass some long, lonely hours. Guess you heard that I'm being transferred to SJCFF tomorrow."

He nodded, finding it difficult to speak around a lump in his throat.

"It's OK, Elliot. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm going to do time. I admitted to shooting Polly Zobell, it was kill or be killed."

"Is there evidence that shows that?" Oswald inquired, leaning forward in his chair.

"Wade says there is. Some test shows my shot was defensive in nature. There's still the question of who shot Edmund Hayes. Stahl tried to pin that on me," Gemma replied grimly.

"Are you working on a plea?"

Gemma shrugged. "I offered to turn myself in after I put Daddy in the nursing home. Rose died while I was on the lam," she explained. "She made provisions for Daddy to move to the nursing home due to his dementia."

Oswald sat back against the chair, momentarily stunned by the revelation. "Oh, Gem! I'm sorry!"

"Don't be about Rose. My mother and I never saw things eye to eye."

"That may be, but it had to be difficult for you when your father entered the nursing home," he replied sympathetically.

"That's why I offered to turn myself in," Gemma explained. "Then Stahl pulled the rug out from under me because I didn't turn myself as promised cause of the heart."

Oswald grimaced. He'd seen Stahl in action around town shortly before Donna's murder. He'd not been impressed by the agent's methods.

"I'm sorry," he offered again.

"Don't be," Gemma assured him. "Lowen's taken the club's legal matters over from Rosen. She's a good lawyer, she's working on things for us - for me - even as we speak."

Gemma's phone vibrated in her pocket, an indication that Clay and Jax were on their way to make a deal with Oswald. It was her job to appeal to his family man persona, get him to see why SAMCRO needed to get to Belfast to retrieve Abel, and agree to help them.

She took another satisfying drink of her coffee, then gazed intently at her companion. "I'm not gonna pull any punches, Elliot. We need your help."

After the combined law enforcement agencies had thoroughly searched the clubhouse, the men and women of SAMCRO were allowed to get up from the floor. They dusted themselves off – though it was not really necessary after the cleaning the prospects had given it.

Outwardly, the club only allowed their collective annoyance at the disturbance to show.

Internally, however, they were nervous as they all came to the same conclusion, that the Sanwa deputies and CPD were looking for any evidence that would link the club to Pozo's death.

The cops had turned the clubhouse inside out, tossing cushions to the floor, pulling pots and pans from the kitchen cupboards, and going through anything that wasn't locked. At one point, Bobby Elvis had been forced at gunpoint to open the safe in the chapel.

'We're gonna have quite a mess to clean up!' Filthy Phil groaned inwardly.

The cops swarmed out of the clubhouse and across the lot to the garage office and the garage bays. The club followed them outside to stand under the awning and watch in grim silence as the cops methodically tossed the garage. The mechanics were treated to the same treatment as the club had been, forced to lie on the concrete at gunpoint.

Deputy Sheriff Lieutenant Eli Roosevelt grew increasingly frustrated that the search of the clubhouse had been fruitless. Not a single roach or seed, much less black market drugs were found on any member of the club and the clubhouse itself.

'If I didn't know better, I'd think someone on CPD had warned them! I didn't leave them any time to call ahead!' he fumed. One by one, the deputies came forward to report no success in their search. When the last officer had reported in, he sent them back to their patrols.

As the deputies returned to their cars, one of them commented to his partner about the fruitless endeavor. Their car was parked close to the clubhouse entrance so that Jax and the other members were able to hear them.

The club was relieved to learn that the raid wasn't about Pozo, but that meant someone had ratted them out about the drugs. Jax flushed under their scrutiny. He knew Tara hadn't done so, but there was no denying that someone at the clinic had told Roosevelt about the transaction.

'There's no way around it this time. I've got to end the relationship before it's too late,' Jax thought determinedly. "She could lose everything if I stay with her, and she's got too much goin' for her.'

Tig's prepaid cell had gone off as the deputies' vehicles rolled from the compound. He listened intently, then stepped forward to advise Clay that Oswald was on his way to visit Gemma.

After giving Tig the order to contact Alvarez, and have him meet them at the hospital chapel, Clay and Jax strode to their bikes. Jax would wait for Alvarez and keep him company until Clay could bring Oswald to the chapel.

Tig nodded and turned away to make the call just as Lyla's Toyota pulled to a stop past the awning area. Opie walked over to talk with her while Ima climbed from the passenger seat and marched to Jax's Harley.

Jax looked up as a shadow crossed his instrument panel. Ima stood in front of him, her eyes full of hope and adoration. He briskly informed her he was too busy to give her a ride, ignoring the disappointed look that clouded her face.

Unable to hide her bitter disappointment, Ima sauntered back to the clubhouse entrance, bypassing Opie and Lyla. Jax watched her retreat before he started his bike and followed Clay from the lot. The sound of the retreating motorcycle pierced Ima's heart.

"Are you all right?" Lyla called after her. "I could give you a lift home in the Caddy."

Ima waved her off and disappeared into the clubhouse. 'I'm sure Jax will come back before he goes home to that doctor. When he does, he'll find me here waiting for him. Who knows what'll happen then?'

She spied Tig striding across the clubhouse towards the entry and shied away from him. Ima had heard stories about the SAMCRO SAA, and even though he had an old lady, she harbored a healthy fear of the dark - haired rider.

'After what happened to KT and the twins when they messed with his old lady, none of the Caracara girls want to tangle with her!"

Tig was completely unaware of her discomfort in his presence. "I'm headin' home," he called over his shoulder, pushing his sunglasses over his eyes and nose. "Lemme know when we're headin' out."

"Will do, Tig. Give Lady Cat our love," Juice replied.

"Fuck that," Tig retorted, letting the door close behind him.

Ima wasn't interested in Bobby Elvis, though he'd given her the eye on more than one occasion. He looked like a teddy bear, and she wasn't interested in something cuddly. He was already wrapped up with one of the older Croweaters, who glared balefully at her, as if daring her to try to intervene.

Ima turned her eyes away from the couple, glancing briefly at the other members sitting and standing at the bar. Though the Tacoma SAA and Juice were cute, deep down, she wanted Jax. She contented herself with sitting on the couch and waiting for him.

Kozik was standing at the bar with Juice, Happy and the new prospects. Sebastian eyed Ima lustily. "Does prospecting mean a guy can have a turn at that?"

Kozik roughly shoved Sebastian's shoulder. "A little respect where the women are concerned!"

"Besides," Juice added, "That one of the Caracara actresses."

"So?" Sebastian challenged

"I'm sayin' she's experienced. You might disappoint her," Juice replied.

Sebastian snorted derisively "I haven't had any complaints so far!"

"It's up to the lady," Happy replied. "_If_ you think you're up to it."

"You mean it?" Sebastian's eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, staring at the pile of presents under the tree.

"Sure," Happy replied. "Be my guest."

Sebastian straightened his shoulders and sauntered over to the couch, stopping right in front of Ima. His crotch was right at her eye level.

"Hi. I'm Sebastian. One of the new prospects," he introduced himself.

"How nice for you," Ima replied, a bored note in her voice that would've sent any other man looking for warmer waters.

Without benefit of an invitation or asking for one, Sebastian plopped down on the couch, nearly sitting on Ima's thigh. His arm curled around the top of the couch.

"Glad you think so," he continued. "In a year from now, I'll have the full patch. You play your cards right, you could be my old lady."

Ima jumped up as if a snake had slithered under her butt. "Not even if Hell freezes over!" she retorted, slinking to a chair as far away from the prospect as she could get and still see the clubhouse entrance.

'She can't do that to me!' Sebastian's face clouded over with a menacing frown. The trio of at the bar laughed outright at him. Sebastian stood up and started towards Ima, intent on showing her who was in charge.

Kozik moved to stand in front of him, one hand held straight out against the prospect's chest. "Whoa, boy! That's enough. The lady said no. That means back off."

"She's a porn actress!" Sebastian whined. "If she's not here to service us, what's she here for?"

Juice glared menacingly at the mouthy prospect. "She's a friend of the club, which means she deserves to be treated with some respect!" he snapped. "You want a woman, there might be a blow up doll in one of the store rooms."

"But I thought - "

"That's the problem, _prospect," _Happy growled softly. "You don't think. You open your mouth and put it in overdrive."

"You're a prospect. That means you do what you're told, when you're told, no questions asked," Kozik continued. "_If _you get fully patched, then you're entitled to the company of a Croweater, porn star, or hangaround. Until that time, you're entitled to _nada." _

"But Happy said -"

Kozik shoved Sebastian in the chest, sending him sprawling onto his back on the clean floor. "You still don't get it!" He snarled. "Just because you have permission to do something doesn't give ya the right to force it. The lady isn't interested. Go find something else to do."

Kozik turned away from the prospect, shaking his head. 'SAMCRO is really scrapin' the bottom of the barrel to make that guy a prospect! He keeps this up, he won't last a full month!'

Ima flashed a thousand mega watt smile of thanks at Kozik and the other two men, who lifted their beer bottles in salute. Though none of them were interested in bedding her, they weren't about to allow her to be disrespected by one of their own.

Sebastian muttered to himself as he walked away from the lounge and bar. He was embarassed at being turned down by Ima, and by being called to task by Kozik and the other guys. He decided to go out the back way for a smoke and indulge in a pity party.

Though his transfer had been voted down, Kozik decided to check out of the hotel room to stay in the club dorms over the garage. He'd already asked permission from Clay, who'd happily approved it.

"Guess I'll go get my shit and get settled in. See ya later," Kozik murmured to the others.

"Should be safe out there by now," Juice winked.

Stahl eventually succeeded in getting away fom Tyler to contact her second in command on the team and alert him of the US Attorney's demand for their reports on the day of the twin shootings at Galt. It was a simple matter of ducking into a nearby women's restroom. Tyler wouldn't follow her in and she could make her calls in relative privacy.

She opened each toilet door to make sure no one would overhear her conversation, then pulled out her cell to call her second in command. "This is Stahl," she announced when the agent answered. "We've got a problem."

"What's wrong?"

Stahl quickly explained the situation, adding the need for the unit to amend their reports to indicate that Tyler, not Stahl, was in the Hayes house when the killings took place.

"Are you nuts?" the second in command yelped.

"No, I'm not, and keep your voice down!" Stahl snapped. "The last thing we need is for Sullins to overhear you and stick his nose in where it doesn't belong!"

"What the Hell has Tyler done that you're settin' her up like this?"

"That's _my_ business," Stahl retorted. "Yours is to do what you're told, and to see to it the rest of the unit complies. I don't have to tell you what will happen if you don't."

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. The second in command sighed heavily. "No, you don't."

"We'll be there in a few minutes," Stahl acknowledged, shutting off her cell phone as the door opened to admit one of the nursing staff. Stahl washed her hands and dried them, nodding slightly at the nurse that passed her.

Tyler was waiting across the hall from the restroom entrance. She silently fell into step with Stahl, her expression reflecting her continued concern over Gemma's statement.

Stahl felt a momentary pang of regret, but she quickly stifled it. Regret was a luxury she didn't have any more. She was in a fight for her professional life. If it were a choice between being loyal to Tyler or keeping her current status with the agency, the choice would be against Tyler every time.

Alvarez didn't like hospitals. It was the smell of disinfectant that bothered him the most. Though the environment was supposed to be sterile, he could smell the underlying stench of pain and death in the building.

His face remained a mask of granite calm as he strode to the chapel as SAMCRO's SAA had directed him. He found Jax Teller sitting in the back pew.

"Where is your friend?" he asked, standing next to the pew and gazing down at Jax.

"Upstairs with Mom. I'll go get him. Cell phones don't work too well in here."

"I expect so," Alvarez nodded. "Is Clay here?"

"He's with Mom," Jax acknowledged. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Take your time," Alvarez moved to the front pew and crossed himself before taking a seat.

Jax rushed to the jail ward to retrieve Oswald and Clay. He endured the agent's incessant pat down, then walked into his mother's room, announcing that their friend had arrived.

Gemma had broken the news to Oswald that Abel was in Belfast and that it had been confirmed by McGee's old lady. Clay explained that McGee was a founding member of SAMCRO and had no reason to lie to them

Additionally, SAMCRO had the time needed to get to Belfast and back with Abel without jeopardizing the bond Oswald had put up for them. Ally Lowen had informed Jax and Clay that the bail hearing had been pushed back two weeks. Her eyes had glinted with unspoken knowledge, leaving both riders with the feeling she knew what they were going to do and privately supported the idea.

Oswald held his tongue until they were well away from the jail ward. "I don't see why you need to have me meet anyone in the chapel!"

"You will. Trust me," Clay replied expansively.

"I always get a bad feeling in my gut when you say that," Oswald moaned.

"Relax. This time, it's all good," Jax assured him.

They walked into the chapel. Alvarez rose from the pew he'd occupied and shook hands with Oswald, who sensed a quiet strength and power in the Mayan leader's presence. Alvarez looked him right in the eye as he affirmed Clay's statement that both clubs had agreed to cease hostilities.

Oswald watched in fascination as Alvarez handed a bulky white envelope to Clay, then turned to Jax. His stated hope that Jax would find his son indicated the Mayan President sympathized with the SAMCRO VP, and had no doubt the missing child would be returned.

Oswald sank to a pew. His legs felt too rubbery to hold him up. Clay had already inquired into how he shipped heavy machinery to his European interests. He sighed and announced that he had a cargo plane leaving from Stockton Metro at 6pm sharp the following evening.

Clay shook hands with the businessman. He appreciated that Oswald was willing to help them retrieve Abel. It didn't matter that Oswald would only get them to Manchester, England. SAMBEL would get them the rest of the way.

Oswald turned to leave the chapel and clapped Jax on the shoulder as he headed for the door. It was a gesture of comradeship from one father to another.

Alex pulled his Dyna into the driveway of his home, skillfully maneuvering around the two parked Chryslers. He parked the Harley in front of the garage door directly behind the two cars and placed his helmet on the side mirror.

He shook out his hair then lit a cigarette. Music and feminine voices drifted to him from the back yard. 'Sounds like they're havin' one of their 'cawfee church' things!'

He grinned and strode to the gate to join them. June's cry of alarm stopped him in mid stride. 'What the fuck?' he started to open the gate to run to Cat's assistance, but he stopped again when he heard her weakly assure her friend she was fine, just the news had caught her off guard.

He decided to hang out around the back gate and see what he could pick up from their conversation. It was obvious that the women hadn't heard the Dyna, the music and their conversation had drowned it out.

He leaned against the tall privacy fence, unashamedly eavesdropping on his wife and her friend. Opportunities to gain intel were never to be missed, and this was a golden opportunity that presented itself.

He felt some concern when the two began discussing Cat's choice to marry him. As the conversation went on, he flushed with pleasure to hear his woman defend both him and their marriage to her best friend.

'I knew I'd made the right choice when she didn't haul ass after discoverin' the truth about Donna'!' he mused. 'Never gave much thought to the reasons behind the after hours events she puts on. Just took 'em for what they appeared. Guess if they make her feel better, help her find a balance, I'm not gonna complain.'

He shrugged and inhaled deeply on his cigarette. Listening to her defend her decisions to June made Alex realize just how much of a price Cat willingly paid to be a part of his life. 'Damn! I'm not worth that kind of loyalty, but I sure as Hell don't ever wanna be without her. I'm kinda likin' this 'Alex' side of me, now that I'm gettin' to know him better.'

His fists clenched in anger when he heard them talk about the beatings 'Brownie' and the drunken dope fiend had inflicted on her. 'There's _never _an excuse for a man to beat a woman! If I ever see that rat bastard, I'll kill him!'

A red haze fell over his eyes for a few moments. He wanted to hit something, preferably either of the asshats that had dared to lay hands on her. He performed a deep breathing exercise to calm himself. He knew giving into his rage and need to possessively protect his woman wouldn't do anyone any good.

'Now I understand what she meant about I've never deliberately caused her harm. How in the Hell could she have gotten the courage to stand up to me, of all people, after what she endured from those fucktards?'

He absently stroked his throat, right in the area where the long scar marked Cat's throat. He'd always wondered which of the two men had given that scar to her. He'd asked her once how she'd gotten it, but she refused to tell him. She'd answered that it was ancient history best left buried.

Alex had always been respectful of their telephone 'cawfee church' gatherings. He would usually go out into the back yard to smoke and relax or tinker with the bikes. Once in awhile, Cat would invite him to talk to June, and he'd do so, finding her readily accepting of him. But he generally considered their 'church' as sacred as the club's.

With the two women meeting in person, it enabled him to get valuable insights into things Cat still chose to keep to herself. His heart hurt to learn of the betrayals she'd suffered at the hands of the other men in her past.

'Obviously Bill wasn't like them. Maybe he encouraged her spirit to come out of whatever safe shell she hid it in. If he hadn't, she wouldn't be as feisty and stubborn as she is with me!' He mentally saluted the spirit of her first husband. 'I owe ya one, man!'

Alex decided he should make his presence known after June announced she wasn't certain she wanted to take the job offer. He swung open the back gate and leaned against the door frame, grinning broadly with his arms crossed over his chest.

"So this is 'cawfee church'!"

"You expected a pulpit and a minister citing 'hell fire and damnation'?' Cat drawled.

"Nah. Nothin' like that. Is this a wimmin only thing, or can a guy join in?"

Cat glanced at her friend, her face lighting with a sly smile. Alex rolled his eyes to the Heavens, realizing too late he'd left himself open for some teasing.

"What do y'all think, kittenface? Shall we allow a man to enter our secret sanctum?"

June shrugged, her eyes glittering with mischief. "If we don't, he'll just join in anyway, which will really tarnish our feminist reputations!"

Alex grinned back at them. "Sweetheart, I've got news for ya! Cat's membership card got revoked the day she agreed to marry me!"

"I'm not surprised!" June retorted, bending over her knitting to hide a snicker.

"Laugh it up, fuzz face!" Cat growled. "And for your information, Mr. Neanderthal, my membership is only on suspension."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, baby," he replied. "Do I hafta have coffee to sit with ya?"

Cat and June exchanged questioning looks, then they nodded in unison, as if an unspoken question and answer had passed between them.

"Tell y'all what, stud muffin, we'll make an exception for you," Cat stated, using her good arm to make a sweeping gesture like a queen granting a behest upon one of her subjects. "You are permitted to have a beer."

He bowed mockingly from the waist. "You'll pay for that, woman!"

"Promises, promises," Cat replied airily.

He snorted and strode across the back yard to the kitchen door. He automatically checked to insure no cat would try to escape and disappeared inside.

"I didn't hear the bike pull in," June murmured. "Do y'all suppose he was eavesdroppin'?"

"I _know_ he was," Cat assured her. "It's not like we were discussin' anything that would cause any marital strife."

"He's not mad at me for questionin' y'all about your relationship?"

Cat shook her head. "If he was pissed, y'all would know it. One thing Alex appreciates is loyalty. He knows y'all are just lookin' out for me."

"I hope so," June murmured.

The sound of another gate closing alerted the women to a visitor from the coffeehouse. Cat looked up to see Christopher Johns approach across the lawn. He carried a manila folder pressed between his body and his elbow.

"Hey, CJ! C'mon over and cop a squat," Cat greeted her employee, standing up to give him the chair.

Alex strode out of the kitchen at that same moment, carrying a bottle of beer by its' neck. He scowled at Cat, who was motioning for the young man to take her seat.

"What the Hell do ya think you're doin'?" He growled, striding over to her before she could sit on the ground.

"What's it look like I'm doin'?" she retorted. "Givin' CJ the chair."

"That's OK, Miss Cat," Christopher hastily interjected. "I've been sitting for awhile working on this petition and biography for you. My butt is dead tired!"

"Then Mr. Tig can have the chair," Cat replied.

"Don't tell me you're gonna sit on the ground!" Alex barked.

She shrugged. "It's not like I've had time to get another outdoor chair!"

Alex reached out to clasp his hand around her arm and drew her up against him. "I've already told ya no woman of mine sits on the ground!" He settled into the vacated lawn chair and drew her onto his lap.

June snickered and promptly bent her head over her knitting when Alex glared at her. "What's so funny?"

"The two of you," June grinned. "Don't y'all realize she wanted to sit on your lap all along?"

"That's a'right. I kinda enjoy havin' her there. Least I know she's behavin'!"

Cat snorted and demonstrated her proficiency at digital communications to the two of them. Then she laid her head in the space between Alex's neck and shoulder, sighing in contentment.

Christopher handed the file folder to Alex so his employer wouldn't have to move from her comfortable position. He opened the folder to gaze at the contents, holding it in such a way that Cat could peruse the contents at the same time.

"Y'all work fast, kiddo," Cat observed. "I didn't expect anything until tomorrow."

"I clocked out and worked on it on the office computer. We - the staff and I - agree this needs to be out in the store tomorrow morning." Christopher explained.

"_Now _what are you up to?" June inquired, looking up from her knitting.

"Oh, just gonna run for city council," Cat replied airily. "As an independent."

"Why am I not surprised you'd chose _that _ticket!" June moaned. She glanced at Alex and added, "Y'all don't' seem surprised by this."

"We discussed it at length last night," he admitted.

"And you're OK with _all _the ramifications?"

Alex frowned at her. He knew what she meant, but didn't want to spill the beans in front of Cat's employee. Before he could speak, she whispered, "It's OK, love. I ready told 'the kids' about us.' She decided it was best not to tell him they'd guessed at the truth a long time ago. 'Best not to get him all upset for no reason.'

'Wish to Hell she'd waited 'til I could be there!' He turned his glare on Cat for a moment, his disappointment glaringly obviously to her.

"Sorry, love. I know y'all wanted to be present when the staff learned the truth. The time was right, and I knew y'all were busy with club business," she explained.

Alex's glare softened in response. "Ya did right, baby," he skimmed the petition CJ had put together, then glanced at her to make sure she'd read it through. At her slight nod, he closed the folder and held it out to CJ,

CJ scrambled up from the ground to take the folder from Alex. "Is it OK?" he asked timidly.

"Looks a'right," Tig stated.

"It's very good," Cat admitted. "Go print off the copies we discussed, then get yourself home and enjoy some free time!"

"Yes, Miss Cat!" Christopher scurried back to the coffeehouse's back entrance.

Alex took a thoughtful pull from his beer. "Want me to take one of those petitions to the clubhouse so the guys can sign it?"

Cat shook her head. "No, love. I'd rather they just come over to the coffeehouse to sign it whenever they have the time,"

"Why's that?" he felt hurt by the rejection. "Ya know we'll support ya!"

"That's the problem," June replied, ignoring Cat's glare and her outstretched 'stop!' gesture. "It'd be better for Cat's political career if the club _didn't _support her."

"June!" Cat hissed warningly.

'I never thought about that, and Cat prolly didn't either!' Alex stroked her hair to calm her down. "Claws in, baby. I wanna hear this."

"Politics is a dirty business, Alex. If your club supports her, the press and her competition will just write her off as a puppet of the club."

"Like Hell they will!" Cat yelled, leaping from Alex's lap to stand angrily in front of her friend.

"Y'all covered enough campaigns in your career to know I'm right!" June retorted. "It's not like y'all not to have thought of that!"

"It slipped my mind!" Cat admitted. "But it's not somethin' that can't be addressed, and I know just how to do it!" She turned and limped to the back entrance of the coffeehouse.

"What do ya think you're doin'?" Alex called after her.

"Catchin' up with CJ before he wastes paper! There's a change I'm gonna make to the petition!" She called back over her shoulder, closing the door to the coffeehouse behind her.

Alex and June stared at the closed gate, momentarily stunned by Cat's mercurial mood swing.

"Whew!" Alex exhaled. "Thought for a minute there that I was gonna have to referee a cat fight!"

"We've _never_ traded blows, and we weren't about to do so today," June assured him.

"Ya could've fooled me!" he took another reassuring pull from the beer.

He set the beer on the table next to Cat's abandoned coffee cup and lit another cigarette. "Why did ya think I was out to use Cat?"

The abrupt change of topic made June not just drop a stitch, but her entire knitting into her lap. "I was afraid y'all heard that! Are ya mad at me for harborin' doubts like that?'

"Doesn't bother me what ya first thought of me," he shrugged. "You're _supposed _to her best friend. She calls ya her 'heart sister'. Why would ya hurt her by doubtin' Cat's decision to hook up with me?"

June lifted her coffee cup and took a steadying sip of the liquid. "How much has she told y'all about her past involvements?"

"Enough to know she's had less than a handful, and the only one worth a shit was Bill," he replied.

'I'll bet he didn't know until today about the beatin's Brownie and the doper inflicted on her, and I'm not about to go into that mine field with him!,' June thought to herself. "Then y'all already know the answer. Cat often leads with her heart and ignores her head. With a battin' average like hers, I just wanted to be sure she wasn't goin' get struck out again."

Alex nodded and took a long drag on his cigarette, then exhaled a long plume into the air. "OK. So how do I rate now?"

"I'm sittin' here with ya, aren't I?" June retorted. "I wouldn't if I still thought y'all were gonna do any harm to my 'heart sister'." She picked up her knitting, ripped out the section where the stitch had dropped, and added, "I'll tell ya what she told my former boyfriend a long time ago: I have no quarrel with y'all as long as you treat my girl right."

"And if I don't?" Alex replied, the challenge evident in his tone of voice.

"I'll hunt y'all down and make y'all regret it," June replied evenly, her gaze meeting Alex's. Though she looked too small and feminine to hurt a fly, he could see the steely determination in her expression.

"I don't doubt it, sweetheart," Alex replied. "Ya don't have anything to worry about. I'm in this for the long haul."

"Yeah, that's what my former boyfriend and I thought, but we drifted apart after 15 years together."

"Did Cat hunt him down like she promised?"

June shook her head. "She was the only one of my friends that genuinely liked him. He could be loud and opinionated, which put a lot of people off. Those two bonded first over their love of all things Mopar. Then they discovered similar traits - like questioning authority and the status quo."

Alex finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the nearby table. He remained silent, preferring to allow her to tell the story in her own way.

"Cat told us we each had a side, but the truth was somewhere in the middle. She loved both of us, and wasn't gonna take sides in the argument." June replied, her fingers skillfully reworking the unraveled yarn. "You've got a very special woman there, Tarzan. I hope y'all realize that."

"You're preachin' to the choir, sweetheart," Alex assured her, tipping his beer at her in salute. "So tell me about this Cory Brown asshat. Don't leave a thing out."

Cat limped quickly towards her office in the coffeehouse, calling out to Christopher to hold up on the printing.

Christopher poked his head out of the office door in disappointment. "I thought you said everything was OK, Miss Cat!"

She laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It is. June brought somethin' to my attention that we need to address."

"I thought we had it all covered," he replied, settling in front of the computer. He pulled up the program with the petiion document in it.

"It was. June pointed out that we needed to address my connection to SAMCRO is all," she assured him. "I had an inspiration that should suffice."

Christopher started to get up to let her have the computer. She placed a restraining hand on his shoulder to keep him in his seat. "You type, I'll dictate," she stated.

"OK, Miss Cat."

She closed her eyes a moment to gather her thoughts together. June's comment about her being viewed as the club's puppet had reminded her of an old Disney song. "Can you pull up You Tube for me and do a search for a particular song?"

"Sure!" He quickly complied, launching the internet explorer and typing in the words 'You Tube' in the search engine, then clicked on the link to the website. The program loaded on the screen. "What do you want me to look for?"

"The lyrics to '_I've Got No Strings'_," she replied.

"What's that?" Christopher asked as he typed the titled into the search engine.

Cat's unbandaged eyebrow disappeared into her bangs. "You've _never_ seen the cartoon 'Pinnochio?"

He shook his head. "Should I have?"

Cat sighed and settled into the chair next to her desk. "Jiminy Cricket! Y'all make me feel so damn old sometimes!"

"Well, I've got some results," he replied, pointing to the computer screen. "Is this what you're referring to?"

She glanced at the screen and nodded. "Yeah. That's a classic Disney film."

"OK. Which one do you want?"

"Just pull the one with the lyrics, so y'all can copy 'em," she replied. "First, here's what I want to have lead into the lyrics. Let me know when you're ready."

Christopher activated the program that held the petition document, then placed his hands in readiness on the keyboard. "Ready!"

"There are some who are going to question the validity of my candidacy, given my association with the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club. My worthy opponents could even go so far as to call me out as a puppet. I have an answer for them, a quote from the Disney film 'Pinochio'. I trust that will be a sufficient answer and calm any concerns you might have'."

Christopher's fingers flew over the keys as he typed what his employer dictated. He grinned as he made the connection between the song title and the possibility that anyone would call her a puppet.

"I can tell by your expression that you're catchin' on to the idea," she grinned. "But go ahead and play the clip. I want you to get the full impact."

He saved the dictation and switched to the 'You Tube' program, activating the clip with lyrics. They listened to the song and Christopher's eyes glinted with delight. He stopped the clip, reversed it, and put it on pause while he typed in the first line of lyrics.

"How much of it do you want, Miss Cat?"

"Just copy the parts up to the Dutch puppet," she replied. "Use a bold, italized font for it as well."

Christopher dutifully copied the lyrics onto the page, then printed it so that Cat could read it easier.

"Yup, that'll do 'er," she nodded approvingly. "Print it up, put 'em on the clipboards, and we'll set 'em out tomorrow mornin'!" She stood up, folded the paper Christopher had given her, and slid it in her back pocket.

"Good night, kiddo. Thanks for your help," she added, limping out of the office and on to the back entrance. "Tomorrow's gonna be an interestin' day!"

"You can say that again!" Christopher smiled, thinking of the reactions the customers would have to the petition. "I can't wait!"


End file.
